Daddy-Long-Legs
judge. We almost quarreled--I am not sure but that we entirely did!
In any case, I packed my trunk fast and came up here. I thought I’d
better see my bridges in flames behind me before I finished writing
to you. They are entirely reduced to ashes now. Here I am at Cliff
Top (the name of Mrs. Paterson’s cottage) with my trunk unpacked and
Florence (the little one) already struggling with first declension
nouns. And it bids fair to be a struggle! She is a most uncommonly
spoiled child; I shall have to teach her first how to study--she has
never in her life concentrated on anything more difficult than
ice-cream soda water.
We use a quiet corner of the cliffs for a schoolroom--Mrs. Paterson
wishes me to keep them out of doors--and I will say that _I_ find it
difficult to concentrate with the blue sea before me and ships
a-sailing by! And when I think I might be on one, sailing off to
foreign lands--but I _won’t_ let myself think of anything but Latin
Grammar.
The prepositions a or ab, absque, coram, cum, de, e or ex, prae,
pro, sine, tenus, in, subter, sub and super govern the ablative.
So you see, Daddy, I am already plunged into work with my eyes
persistently set against temptation. Don’t be cross with me, please,
and don’t think that I do not appreciate your kindness, for I
do--always--always. The only way I can ever repay you is by turning
out a Very Useful Citizen (Are women citizens? I don’t suppose they
are). Anyway, a Very Useful Person. And when you look at me you can
say, “I gave that Very Useful Person to the world.”
That sounds well, doesn’t it, Daddy? But I don’t wish to mislead
you. The feeling often comes over me that I am not at all
remarkable; it is fun to plan a career, but in all probability,
I shan’t turn out a bit different from any other ordinary person.
I may end by marrying an undertaker and being an inspiration to him
in his work.
Yours ever,
JUDY.
August 19th.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
My window looks out on the loveliest landscape--ocean-scape
rather--nothing but water and rocks.
The summer goes. I spend the morning with Latin and English and
algebra and my two stupid girls. I don’t know how Marion is ever
going to get into college, or stay in after she gets there. And as
for Florence, she is hopeless--but oh! such a little beauty. I don’t
suppose it matters in the least whether they are stupid or not so
long as they are pretty? One can’t help thinking though, how their
conversation will bore their husbands, unless they are fortunate
enough to obtain stupid husbands. I suppose that’s quite possible;
the world seems to be filled with stupid men; I’ve met a number
this summer.
In the afternoon we take a walk on the cliffs, or swim, if the tide
is right. I can swim in salt water with the utmost ease--you see my
education is already being put to use!
A letter comes from Mr. Jervis Pendleton in Paris, rather a short,
concise letter; I’m not quite forgiven yet for refusing to follow
his advice. However, if he gets back in time, he will see me for a
few days at Lock Willow before college opens, and if I am very nice
and sweet and docile, I shall (I am led to infer) be received into
favor again.
Also a letter from Sallie. She wants me to come to their camp for
two weeks in September. Must I ask your permission, or haven’t I
yet arrived at the place where I can do as I please? Yes, I am sure
I have--I’m a Senior, you know. Having worked all summer, I feel
like taking a little healthful recreation; I want to see the
Adirondacks; I want to see Sallie; I want to see Sallie’s
brother--he’s going to teach me to canoe--and (we come to my chief
motive, which is mean) I want Master Jervie to arrive at Lock Willow
and find me not there.
I _must_ show him that he can’t dictate to me. No one can dictate to
me but you, Daddy--and you can’t always! I’m off for the woods.
JUDY.
CAMP MCBRIDE,
September 6th.
_Dear Daddy_,
Your letter didn’t come in time (I am pleased to say). If you wish
your instructions to be obeyed, you must have your secretary
transmit them in less than two weeks. As you observe, I am here,
and have been for five days.
The woods are fine, and so is the camp, and so is the weather, and
so are the McBrides, and so is the whole world. I’m very happy!
There’s Jimmie calling for me to come canoeing. Good-by--sorry to
have disobeyed, but why are you so persistent about not wanting me
to play a little? When I’ve worked all summer I deserve two weeks.
You are awfully dog-in-the-mangerish.
However--I love you still, Daddy, in spite of all your faults.
JUDY.
October 3rd.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
Back at college and a Senior--also editor of the _Monthly_. It
doesn’t seem possible, does it, that so sophisticated a person,
just four years ago, was an inmate of the John Grier Home? We do
arrive fast in America!
What do you think of this? A note from Master Jervie directed to
Lock Willow and forwarded here. He’s sorry but he finds that he
can’t get up there this autumn; he has accepted an invitation to go
yachting with some friends. Hopes I’ve had a nice summer and am
enjoying the country.
And he knew all the time that I was with the McBrides, for Julia
told him so! You men ought to leave intrigue to women; you haven’t
a light enough touch.
Julia has a trunkful of the most ravishing new clothes--an evening
gown of rainbow Liberty crêpe that would be fitting raiment for the
angels in Paradise. And I thought that my own clothes this year were
unprecedentedly (is there such a word?) beautiful. I copied Mrs.
Paterson’s wardrobe with the aid of a cheap dressmaker, and though
the gowns didn’t turn out quite twins of the originals, I was
entirely happy until Julia unpacked. But now--I live to see Paris!
Dear Daddy, aren’t you glad you’re not a girl? I suppose you think
that the fuss we make over clothes is too absolutely silly? It is.
No doubt about it. But it’s entirely your fault.
Did you ever hear about the learned Herr Professor who regarded
unnecessary adornment with contempt, and favored sensible,
utilitarian clothes for women? His wife, who was an obliging
creature, adopted “dress reform.” And what do you think he did?
He eloped with a chorus girl.
Yours ever,
JUDY.
P. S. The chamber-maid on our corridor wears blue checked gingham
aprons. I am going to get her some brown ones instead, and sink the
blue ones in the bottom of the lake. I have a reminiscent chill
every time I look at them.
November 17th.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
Such a blight has fallen over my literary career. I don’t know
whether to tell you or not, but I would like some sympathy--silent
sympathy, please; don’t reopen the wound by referring to it in your
next letter.
I’ve been writing a book, all last winter in the evenings, and all
summer when I wasn’t teaching Latin to my two stupid children.
I just finished it before college opened and sent it to a publisher.
He kept it two months, and I was certain he was going to take it;
but yesterday morning an express parcel came (thirty cents due) and
there it was back again with a letter from the publisher, a very
nice, fatherly letter--but frank! He said he saw from the address
that I was still in college, and if I would accept some advice, he
would suggest that I put all of my energy into my lessons and wait
until I graduated before beginning to write. He enclosed his
reader’s opinion. Here it is:
“Plot highly improbable. Characterization exaggerated. Conversation
unnatural. A good deal of humor but not always in the best of taste.
Tell her to keep on trying, and in time she may produce a real
book.”
Not on the whole flattering, is it, Daddy? And I thought I was
making a notable addition to American literature, I did truly. I was
planning to surprise you by writing a great novel before I
graduated. I collected the material for it while I was at Julia’s
last Christmas. But I dare say the editor is right. Probably two
weeks was not enough in which to observe the manners and customs of
a great city.
I took it walking with me yesterday afternoon, and when I came to
the gas house, I went in and asked the engineer if I might borrow
his furnace. He politely opened the door, and with my own hands I
chucked it in. I felt as though I had cremated my only child!
I went to bed last night utterly dejected; I thought I was never
going to amount to anything, and that you had thrown away your money
for nothing. But what do you think? I woke up this morning with a
beautiful new plot in my head, and I’ve been going about all day
planning my characters, just as happy as I could be. No one can ever
accuse me of being a pessimist! If I had a husband and twelve
children swallowed by an earthquake one day, I’d bob up smilingly
the next morning and commence to look for another set.
Affectionately,
JUDY.
December 14th.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
I dreamed the funniest dream last night. I thought I went into a
book store and the clerk brought me a new book named “The Life and
Letters of Judy Abbott.” I could see it perfectly plainly--red cloth
binding with a picture of the John Grier Home on the cover, and my
portrait for a frontispiece with, “Very truly yours, Judy Abbott,”
written below. But just as I was turning to the end to read the
inscription on my tombstone, I woke up. It was very annoying!
I almost found out who I’m going to marry and when I’m going to
die.
Don’t you think it would be interesting if you really could read the
story of your life--written perfectly truthfully by an omniscient
author? And suppose you could only read it on this condition: that
you would never forget it, but would have to go through life knowing
ahead of time exactly how everything you did would turn out, and
foreseeing to the exact hour the time when you would die. How many
people do you suppose would have the courage to read it then? Or how
many could suppress their curiosity sufficiently to escape from
reading it, even at the price of having to live without hope and
without surprises?
Life is monotonous enough at best; you have to eat and sleep about
so often. But imagine how _deadly_ monotonous it would be if nothing
unexpected could happen between meals. Mercy! Daddy, there’s a
blot, but I’m on the third page and I can’t begin a new sheet.
I’m going on with biology again this year--very interesting
subject; we’re studying the alimentary system at present. You
should see how sweet a cross-section of the duodenum of a cat is
under the microscope.
Also we’ve arrived at philosophy--interesting but evanescent.
I prefer biology where you can pin the subject under discussion to a
board. There’s another! And another! This pen is weeping copiously.
Please excuse its tears.
Do you believe in free will? I do--unreservedly. I don’t agree at
all with the philosophers who think that every action is the
absolutely inevitable and automatic resultant of an aggregation
of remote causes. That’s the most immoral doctrine I ever
heard--nobody would be to blame for anything. If a man believed in
fatalism, he would naturally just sit down and say, “The Lord’s will
be done,” and continue to sit until he fell over dead.
I believe absolutely in my own free will and my own power to
accomplish--and that is the belief that moves mountains. You watch
me become a great author! I have four chapters of my new book
finished and five more drafted.
This is a very abstruse letter--does your head ache, Daddy? I think
we’ll stop now and make some fudge. I’m sorry I can’t send you a
piece; it will be unusually good, for we’re going to make it with
real cream and three butter balls.
Yours affectionately,
JUDY.