VII. (I don’t much like to confess this last item, but I will.)
A pair of silk stockings.
And now, Daddy, never say I don’t tell all!
It was a very low motive, if you must know it, that prompted the
silk stockings. Julia Pendleton comes into my room to do geometry,
and she sits cross legged on the couch and wears silk stockings
every night. But just wait--as soon as she gets back from vacation I
shall go in and sit on her couch in my silk stockings. You see,
Daddy, the miserable creature that I am--but at least I’m honest;
and you knew already, from my asylum record, that I wasn’t perfect,
didn’t you?
To recapitulate (that’s the way the English instructor begins every
other sentence), I am _very_ much obliged for my seven presents.
I’m pretending to myself that they came in a box from my family in
California. The watch is from father, the rug from mother, the hot
water bottle from grandmother--who is always worrying for fear I
shall catch cold in this climate--and the yellow paper from my
little brother Harry. My sister Isobel gave me the silk stockings,
and Aunt Susan the Matthew Arnold poems; Uncle Harry (little Harry
is named for him) gave me the dictionary. He wanted to send
chocolates, but I insisted on synonyms.
You don’t object do you, to playing the part of a composite family?
And now, shall I tell you about my vacation, or are you only
interested in my education as such? I hope you appreciate the
delicate shade of meaning in “as such.” It is the latest addition to
my vocabulary.
The girl from Texas is named Leonora Fenton. (Almost as funny as
Jerusha, isn’t it?) I like her, but not so much as Sallie McBride;
I shall never like any one so much as Sallie--except you. I must
always like you the best of all, because you’re my whole family
rolled into one. Leonora and I and two Sophomores have walked ’cross
country every pleasant day and explored the whole neighborhood,
dressed in short skirts and knit jackets and caps, and carrying
shinny sticks to whack things with. Once we walked into town--four
miles--and stopped at a restaurant where the college girls go for
dinner. Broiled lobster (35 cents) and for dessert, buckwheat cakes
and maple syrup (15 cents). Nourishing and cheap.
It was such a lark! Especially for me, because it was so awfully
different from the asylum--I feel like an escaped convict every time
I leave the campus. Before I thought, I started to tell the others
what an experience I was having. The cat was almost out of the bag
when I grabbed it by its tail and pulled it back. It’s awfully hard
for me not to tell everything I know. I’m a very confiding soul by
nature; if I didn’t have you to tell things to, I’d burst.
We had a molasses candy pull last Friday evening, given by the house
matron of Fergussen to the left-behinds in the other halls. There
were twenty-two of us altogether, Freshmen and Sophomores and
Juniors and Seniors all united in amicable accord. The kitchen is
huge, with copper pots and kettles hanging in rows on the stone
wall--the littlest casserole among them about the size of a wash
boiler. Four hundred girls live in Fergussen. The chef, in a white
cap and apron, fetched out twenty-two other white caps and aprons--I
can’t imagine where he got so many--and we all turned ourselves into
cooks.
It was great fun, though I have seen better candy. When it was
finally finished, and ourselves and the kitchen and the door-knobs
all thoroughly sticky, we organized a procession and still in our
caps and aprons, each carrying a big fork or spoon or frying pan, we
marched through the empty corridors to the officers’ parlor where
half-a-dozen professors and instructors were passing a tranquil
evening. We serenaded them with college songs and offered
refreshments. They accepted politely but dubiously. We left them
sucking chunks of molasses candy, sticky and speechless.
So you see, Daddy, my education progresses!
[Illustration]
Don’t you really think that I ought to be an artist instead of an
author?
Vacation will be over in two days and I shall be glad to see the
girls again. My tower is just a trifle lonely; when nine people
occupy a house that was built for four hundred, they do rattle
around a bit.
Eleven pages--poor Daddy, you must be tired! I meant this to be just
a short little thank-you note--but when I get started I seem to have
a ready pen.
Good-by, and thank you for thinking of me--I should be perfectly
happy except for one little threatening cloud on the horizon.
Examinations come in February.
Yours with love,