Your nominal authority doesn't annoy me in the least; you are too far
away to do any harm. Mrs. Lippett is dead for ever, so far as I am
concerned, and the Semples aren't expected to overlook my moral
welfare, are they? No, I am sure not. I am entirely grown up. Hooray!
I leave you now to pack a trunk, and three boxes of teakettles and
dishes and sofa cushions and books.
Yours ever,
Judy
PS. Here is my physiology exam. Do you think you could have passed?
LOCK WILLOW FARM,
Saturday night
Dearest Daddy-Long-Legs,
I've only just come and I'm not unpacked, but I can't wait to tell you
how much I like farms. This is a heavenly, heavenly, HEAVENLY spot!
The house is square like this: And OLD. A hundred years or so. It
has a veranda on the side which I can't draw and a sweet porch in
front. The picture really doesn't do it justice--those things that
look like feather dusters are maple trees, and the prickly ones that
border the drive are murmuring pines and hemlocks. It stands on the
top of a hill and looks way off over miles of green meadows to another
line of hills.
That is the way Connecticut goes, in a series of Marcelle waves; and
Lock Willow Farm is just on the crest of one wave. The barns used to
be across the road where they obstructed the view, but a kind flash of
lightning came from heaven and burnt them down.
The people are Mr. and Mrs. Semple and a hired girl and two hired men.
The hired people eat in the kitchen, and the Semples and Judy in the
dining-room. We had ham and eggs and biscuits and honey and jelly-cake
and pie and pickles and cheese and tea for supper--and a great deal of
conversation. I have never been so entertaining in my life; everything
I say appears to be funny. I suppose it is, because I've never been in
the country before, and my questions are backed by an all-inclusive
ignorance.
The room marked with a cross is not where the murder was committed, but
the one that I occupy. It's big and square and empty, with adorable
old-fashioned furniture and windows that have to be propped up on
sticks and green shades trimmed with gold that fall down if you touch
them. And a big square mahogany table--I'm going to spend the summer
with my elbows spread out on it, writing a novel.
Oh, Daddy, I'm so excited! I can't wait till daylight to explore.
It's 8.30 now, and I am about to blow out my candle and try to go to
sleep. We rise at five. Did you ever know such fun? I can't believe
this is really Judy. You and the Good Lord give me more than I
deserve. I must be a very, very, VERY good person to pay. I'm going
to be. You'll see.
Good night,
Judy
PS. You should hear the frogs sing and the little pigs squeal and you
should see the new moon! I saw it over my right shoulder.
LOCK WILLOW,
12th July
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
How did your secretary come to know about Lock Willow? (That isn't a
rhetorical question. I am awfully curious to know.) For listen to
this: Mr. Jervis Pendleton used to own this farm, but now he has given
it to Mrs. Semple who was his old nurse. Did you ever hear of such a
funny coincidence? She still calls him 'Master Jervie' and talks about
what a sweet little boy he used to be. She has one of his baby curls
put away in a box, and it is red--or at least reddish!
Since she discovered that I know him, I have risen very much in her
opinion. Knowing a member of the Pendleton family is the best
introduction one can have at Lock Willow. And the cream of the whole
family is Master Jervis--I am pleased to say that Julia belongs to an
inferior branch.
The farm gets more and more entertaining. I rode on a hay wagon
yesterday. We have three big pigs and nine little piglets, and you
should see them eat. They are pigs! We've oceans of little baby
chickens and ducks and turkeys and guinea fowls. You must be mad to
live in a city when you might live on a farm.
It is my daily business to hunt the eggs. I fell off a beam in the
barn loft yesterday, while I was trying to crawl over to a nest that
the black hen has stolen. And when I came in with a scratched knee,
Mrs. Semple bound it up with witch-hazel, murmuring all the time,
'Dear! Dear! It seems only yesterday that Master Jervie fell off that
very same beam and scratched this very same knee.'
The scenery around here is perfectly beautiful. There's a valley and a
river and a lot of wooded hills, and way in the distance a tall blue
mountain that simply melts in your mouth.
We churn twice a week; and we keep the cream in the spring house which
is made of stone with the brook running underneath. Some of the
farmers around here have a separator, but we don't care for these
new-fashioned ideas. It may be a little harder to separate the cream
in pans, but it's sufficiently better to pay. We have six calves; and
I've chosen the names for all of them.