This happened nearly two months ago; I haven’t heard a word from him since he was here.  I was just getting sort of acclimated to the feeling of a broken heart, when a letter came from Julia that stirred me all up again.  She said—­very casually—­that `Uncle Jervis’ had been caught out all night in a storm when he was hunting in Canada, and had been ill ever since with pneumonia.  And I never knew it.  I was feeling hurt because he had just disappeared into blankness without a word.  I think he’s pretty unhappy, and I know I am!

What seems to you the right thing for me to do? 
                                               Judy

6th October
Dearest Daddy-Long-Legs,

Yes, certainly I’ll come—­at half-past four next Wednesday afternoon.  Of course I can find the way.  I’ve been in New York three times and am not quite a baby.  I can’t believe that I am really going to see you—­ I’ve been just thinking you so long that it hardly seems as though you are a tangible flesh-and-blood person.

You are awfully good, Daddy, to bother yourself with me, when you’re
not strong.  Take care and don’t catch cold.  These fall rains
are very damp. 
                               Affectionately,
          
                                         Judy

PS.  I’ve just had an awful thought.  Have you a butler?  I’m afraid of butlers, and if one opens the door I shall faint upon the step.  What can I say to him?  You didn’t tell me your name.  Shall I ask for Mr. Smith?

Thursday Morning
My Very Dearest Master-Jervie-Daddy-Long-Legs Pendleton-Smith,

Did you sleep last night?  I didn’t.  Not a single wink.  I was too amazed and excited and bewildered and happy.  I don’t believe I ever shall sleep again—­or eat either.  But I hope you slept; you must, you know, because then you will get well faster and can come to me.

Dear Man, I can’t bear to think how ill you’ve been—­and all the time I never knew it.  When the doctor came down yesterday to put me in the cab, he told me that for three days they gave you up.  Oh, dearest, if that had happened, the light would have gone out of the world for me.  I suppose that some day in the far future—­ one of us must leave the other; but at least we shall have had our happiness and there will be memories to live with.

I meant to cheer you up—­and instead I have to cheer myself.  For in spite of being happier than I ever dreamed I could be, I’m also soberer.  The fear that something may happen rests like a shadow on my heart.  Always before I could be frivolous and care-free and unconcerned, because I had nothing precious to lose.  But now—­I shall have a Great Big Worry all the rest of my life.  Whenever you are away from me I shall be thinking of all the automobiles that can run over you, or the sign-boards that can fall on your head, or the dreadful, squirmy germs that you may be swallowing.  My peace of mind is gone for ever—­but anyway, I never cared much for just plain peace.