April 4th.
_Dearest Daddy-Long-Legs_,
Yesterday evening just toward dark, when I was sitting up in bed
looking out at the rain and feeling awfully bored with life in a
great institution, the nurse appeared with a long white box
addressed to me, and filled with the _loveliest_ pink rosebuds. And
much nicer still, it contained a card with a very polite message
written in a funny little uphill back hand (but one which shows a
great deal of character). Thank you, Daddy, a thousand times. Your
flowers make the first real, true present I ever received in my
life. If you want to know what a baby I am, I lay down and cried
because I was so happy.
Now that I am sure you read my letters, I’ll make them much more
interesting, so they’ll be worth keeping in a safe with red tape
around them--only please take out that dreadful one and burn it up.
I’d hate to think that you ever read it over.
Thank you for making a very sick, cross, miserable Freshman
cheerful. Probably you have lots of loving family and friends,
and you don’t know what it feels like to be alone. But I do.
Good-by--I’ll promise never to be horrid again, because now I know
you’re a real person; also I’ll promise never to bother you with
any more questions.
Do you still hate girls?
Yours forever,