P. S. I forgot to tell you the farm news, but it’s very
distressing. Skip this postscript if you don’t want your
sensibilities all wrought up.
Poor old Grove is dead. He got so he couldn’t chew and they had to
shoot him.
Nine chickens were killed by a weasel or a skunk or a rat last week.
One of the cows is sick, and we had to have the veterinary surgeon
out from Bonnyrigg Four Corners. Amasai stayed up all night to give
her linseed oil and whisky. But we have an awful suspicion that the
poor sick cow got nothing but linseed oil.
Sentimental Tommy (the tortoise-shell cat) has disappeared; we are
afraid he has been caught in a trap.
There are lots of troubles in the world!
May 17th.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
This is going to be extremely short because my shoulder aches at the
sight of a pen. Lecture notes all day, immortal novel all evening
makes too much writing.
Commencement three weeks from next Wednesday. I think you might come
and make my acquaintance--I shall hate you if you don’t! Julia’s
inviting Master Jervie, he being her family, and Sallie’s inviting
Jimmie McB., he being her family, but who is there for me to invite?
Just you and Mrs. Lippett, and I don’t want her. Please come.
Yours, with love and writer’s cramp.