P. S. The lettuce hasn’t done at all well this year. It was so dry
early in the season.
August 25th.
Well, Daddy, Master Jervie’s here. And such a nice time as we’re
having! At least I am, and I think he is, too--he has been here ten
days and he doesn’t show any signs of going. The way Mrs. Semple
pampers that man is scandalous. If she indulged him as much when he
was a baby, I don’t know how he ever turned out so well.
He and I eat at a little table set on the side porch, or sometimes
under the trees, or--when it rains or is cold--in the best parlor.
He just picks out the spot he wants to eat in and Carrie trots after
him with the table. Then if it has been an awful nuisance, and she
has had to carry the dishes very far, she finds a dollar under the
sugar bowl.
He is an awfully companionable sort of man, though you would never
believe it to see him casually; he looks at first glance like a true
Pendleton, but he isn’t in the least. He is just as simple and
unaffected and sweet as he can be--that seems a funny way to
describe a man, but it’s true. He’s extremely nice with the
farmers around here; he meets them in a sort of man-to-man fashion
that disarms them immediately. They were very suspicious at first.
They didn’t care for his clothes! And I will say that his clothes
are rather amazing. He wears knickerbockers and pleated jackets and
white flannels and riding clothes with puffed trousers. Whenever he
comes down in anything new, Mrs. Semple, beaming with pride, walks
around and views him from every angle, and urges him to be careful
where he sits down; she is so afraid he will pick up some dust. It
bores him dreadfully. He’s always saying to her:
“Run along, Lizzie, and tend to your work. You can’t boss me any
longer. I’ve grown up.”
It’s awfully funny to think of that great, big, long-legged man
(he’s nearly as long-legged as you, Daddy) ever sitting in Mrs.
Semple’s lap and having his face washed. Particularly funny when you
see her lap! She has two laps now, and three chins. But he says that
once she was thin and wiry and spry and could run faster than he.
Such a lot of adventures we’re having! We’ve explored the country
for miles, and I’ve learned to fish with funny little flies made of
feathers. Also to shoot with a rifle and a revolver. Also to ride
horse-back--there’s an astonishing amount of life in old Grove. We
fed him on oats for three days, and he shied at a calf and almost
ran away with me.
[Illustration]
Wednesday.
We climbed Sky Hill Monday afternoon. That’s a mountain near here;
not an awfully high mountain, perhaps--no snow on the summit--but at
least you are pretty breathless when you reach the top. The lower
slopes are covered with woods, but the top is just piled rocks and
open moor. We stayed up for the sunset and built a fire and cooked
our supper. Master Jervie did the cooking; he said he knew how
better than me--and he did, too, because he’s used to camping. Then
we came down by moonlight, and, when we reached the wood trail where
it was dark, by the light of an electric bulb that he had in his
pocket. It was such fun! He laughed and joked all the way and talked
about interesting things. He’s read all the books I’ve ever read,
and a lot of others besides. It’s astonishing how many different
things he knows.
We went for a long tramp this morning and got caught in a storm. Our
clothes were drenched before we reached home--but our spirits not
even damp. You should have seen Mrs. Semple’s face when we dripped
into her kitchen.
“Oh, Master Jervie--Miss Judy! You are soaked through. Dear! Dear!
What shall I do? That nice new coat is perfectly ruined.”
She was awfully funny; you would have thought that we were ten years
old, and she a distracted mother. I was afraid for a while that we
weren’t going to get any jam for tea.
Saturday.
I started this letter ages ago, but I haven’t had a second to
finish it.
Isn’t this a nice thought from Stevenson?
The world is so full of a number of things,
I am sure we should all be as happy as kings.
It’s true, you know. The world is full of happiness, and plenty to
go round, if you are only willing to take the kind that comes your
way. The whole secret is in being _pliable_. In the country,
especially, there are such a lot of entertaining things. I can walk
over everybody’s land, and look at everybody’s view, and dabble in
everybody’s brook; and enjoy it just as much as though I owned the
land--and with no taxes to pay!
* * * * *
It’s Sunday night now, about eleven o’clock, and I am supposed to
be getting some beauty sleep, but I had black coffee for dinner,
so--no beauty sleep for me!
This morning, said Mrs. Semple to Mr. Pendleton, with a very
determined accent:
“We have to leave here at a quarter past ten in order to get to
church by eleven.”
“Very well, Lizzie,” said Master Jervie, “you have the surrey ready,
and if I’m not dressed, just go on without waiting.”
“We’ll wait,” said she.
“As you please,” said he, “only don’t keep the horses standing too
long.”
Then while she was dressing, he told Carrie to pack up a lunch, and
he told me to scramble into my walking clothes; and we slipped out
the back way and went fishing.
It discommoded the household dreadfully, because Lock Willow of a
Sunday dines at two. But he ordered dinner at seven--he orders
meals whenever he chooses; you would think the place were a
restaurant--and that kept Carrie and Amasai from going driving. But
he said it was all the better because it wasn’t proper for them to
go driving without a chaperon; and anyway, he wanted the horses
himself to take me driving. Did you ever hear anything so funny?
And poor Mrs. Semple believes that people who go fishing on Sundays,
go afterwards to a sizzling hot hell! She is awfully troubled to
think that she didn’t train him better when he was small and
helpless and she had the chance. Besides--she wished to show him off
in church.
Anyway, we had our fishing (he caught four little ones) and we
cooked them on a camp-fire for lunch. They kept falling off our
spiked sticks into the fire, so they tasted a little ashy, but we
ate them. We got home at four and went driving at five and had
dinner at seven, and at ten I was sent to bed--and here I am,
writing to you.