I wish you were here to enjoy this fine spring morning. It is like
April, bright, calm, warm, and dreamy, sparrows singing, robins and blue
birds calling, hens cackling, crows cawing, while now and then the ear
detects the long drawn plaint of the meadow lark. The ice in the placid
river floats languidly by and I dare say your hunting ground is alive
with ducks. I am boiling sap on the old stove set up here in the chip
yard. I have ten trees tapped and lots of sap. I wish you had some of
the syrup. Your mother came back yesterday and she is now busy in the
kitchen, good natured as yet, if it only lasts. She has hired a girl who
is expected soon. Your letter came yesterday. No doubt you will have fun
acting as "supe" with the boys. It will be a novel experience. Tell me
all about it. A note from Kennedy says he saw Trowbridge lately and that
T is going to ask you out to see him. Go if he asks you, he is an old
friend of mine and a fine man. You have read his stories when you were a
boy. He has some nice girls. Remember me to him if you go.
I do not see or hear any ducks lately, I think they are slow in coming.
But I must stop. Write soon.
Your loving father,