March 5th.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
There is a March wind blowing, and the sky is filled with heavy,
black moving clouds. The crows in the pine trees are making such a
clamor! It’s an intoxicating, exhilarating, _calling_ noise. You
want to close your books and be off over the hills to race with the
wind.
We had a paper chase last Saturday over five miles of squashy ’cross
country. The fox (composed of three girls and a bushel or so of
confetti) started half an hour before the twenty-seven hunters.
I was one of the twenty-seven; eight dropped by the wayside; we
ended nineteen. The trail led over a hill, through a cornfield, and
into a swamp where we had to leap lightly from hummock to hummock.
Of course half of us went in ankle deep. We kept losing the trail,
and wasted twenty-five minutes over that swamp. Then up a hill
through some woods and in at a barn window! The barn doors were all
locked and the window was up high and pretty small. I don’t call
that fair, do you?
But we didn’t go through; we circumnavigated the barn and picked up
the trail where it issued by way of a low shed roof onto the top of
a fence. The fox thought he had us there, but we fooled him. Then
straight away over two miles of rolling meadow, and awfully hard to
follow, for the confetti was getting sparse. The rule is that it
must be at the most six feet apart, but they were the longest six
feet I ever saw. Finally, after two hours of steady trotting, we
tracked Monsieur Fox into the kitchen of Crystal Spring (that’s a
farm where the girls go in bob sleighs and hay wagons for chicken
and waffle suppers) and we found the three foxes placidly eating
milk and honey and biscuits. They hadn’t thought we would get that
far; they were expecting us to stick in the barn window.
Both sides insist that they won. I think we did, don’t you? Because
we caught them before they got back to the campus. Anyway, all
nineteen of us settled like locusts over the furniture and clamored
for honey. There wasn’t enough to go round, but Mrs. Crystal Spring
(that’s our pet name for her; she’s by rights a Johnson) brought
up a jar of strawberry jam and a can of maple syrup--just made last
week--and three loaves of brown bread.
We didn’t get back to college till half-past six--half an hour late
for dinner--and we went straight in without dressing, and with
perfectly unimpaired appetites! Then we all cut evening chapel,
the state of our boots being enough of an excuse.
I never told you about examinations. I passed everything with the
utmost ease--I know the secret now, and am never going to flunk
again. I shan’t be able to graduate with honors though, because of
that beastly Latin prose and geometry Freshman year. But I don’t
care. Wot’s the hodds so long as you’re ’appy? (That’s a
quotation. I’ve been reading the English classics.)
Speaking of classics, have you ever read “Hamlet”? If you haven’t,
do it right off. It’s _perfectly corking_. I’ve been hearing about
Shakespeare all my life, but I had no idea he really wrote so well;
I always suspected him of going largely on his reputation.
I have a beautiful play that I invented a long time ago when I first
learned to read. I put myself to sleep every night by pretending
I’m the person (the most important person) in the book I’m reading
at the moment.
At present I’m Ophelia--and such a sensible Ophelia! I keep Hamlet
amused all the time, and pet him and scold him and make him wrap up
his throat when he has a cold. I’ve entirely cured him of being
melancholy. The King and Queen are both dead--an accident at sea; no
funeral necessary--so Hamlet and I are ruling in Denmark without any
bother. We have the kingdom working beautifully. He takes care of
the governing, and I look after the charities. I have just founded
some first-class orphan asylums. If you or any of the other Trustees
would like to visit them, I shall be pleased to show you through.
I think you might find a great many helpful suggestions.