March Fifth.
_Dear Mr. Trustee_,
To-morrow is the first Wednesday in the month--a weary day for the
John Grier Home. How relieved they’ll be when five o’clock comes
and you pat them on the head and take yourselves off! Did you
(individually) ever pat me on the head, Daddy? I don’t believe
so--my memory seems to be concerned only with fat Trustees.
Give the Home my love, please--my _truly_ love. I have quite a
feeling of tenderness for it as I look back through a haze of four
years. When I first came to college I felt quite resentful because
I’d been robbed of the normal kind of childhood that the other
girls had had; but now, I don’t feel that way in the least. I regard
it as a very unusual adventure. It gives me a sort of vantage point
from which to stand aside and look at life. Emerging full grown,
I get a perspective on the world, that other people who have been
brought up in the thick of things, entirely lack.
I know lots of girls (Julia, for instance) who never know that they
are happy. They are so accustomed to the feeling that their senses
are deadened to it, but as for me--I am perfectly sure every moment
of my life that I am happy. And I’m going to keep on being, no
matter what unpleasant things turn up. I’m going to regard them
(even toothaches) as interesting experiences, and be glad to know
what they feel like. “Whatever sky’s above me, I’ve a heart for
any fate.”
However, Daddy, don’t take this new affection for the J. G. H. too
literally. If I have five children, like Rousseau, I shan’t leave
them on the steps of a foundling asylum in order to insure their
being brought up simply.
Give my kindest regards to Mrs. Lippett (that, I think, is truthful;
love would be a little strong) and don’t forget to tell her what a
beautiful nature I’ve developed.
Affectionately,