Good morning again! I didn't get this ENVELOPED yesterday before the
postman came, so I'll add some more. We have one mail a day at twelve
o'clock. Rural delivery is a blessing to the farmers! Our postman not
only delivers letters, but he runs errands for us in town, at five
cents an errand. Yesterday he brought me some shoe-strings and a jar
of cold cream (I sunburned all the skin off my nose before I got my new
hat) and a blue Windsor tie and a bottle of blacking all for ten cents.
That was an unusual bargain, owing to the largeness of my order.
Also he tells us what is happening in the Great World. Several people
on the route take daily papers, and he reads them as he jogs along, and
repeats the news to the ones who don't subscribe. So in case a war
breaks out between the United States and Japan, or the president is
assassinated, or Mr. Rockefeller leaves a million dollars to the John
Grier Home, you needn't bother to write; I'll hear it anyway.
No sign yet of Master Jervie. But you should see how clean our house
is--and with what anxiety we wipe our feet before we step in!
I hope he'll come soon; I am longing for someone to talk to. Mrs.
Semple, to tell you the truth, gets rather monotonous. She never lets
ideas interrupt the easy flow of her conversation. It's a funny thing
about the people here. Their world is just this single hilltop. They
are not a bit universal, if you know what I mean. It's exactly the
same as at the John Grier Home. Our ideas there were bounded by the
four sides of the iron fence, only I didn't mind it so much because I
was younger, and was so awfully busy. By the time I'd got all my beds
made and my babies' faces washed and had gone to school and come home
and had washed their faces again and darned their stockings and mended
Freddie Perkins's trousers (he tore them every day of his life) and
learned my lessons in between--I was ready to go to bed, and I didn't
notice any lack of social intercourse. But after two years in a
conversational college, I do miss it; and I shall be glad to see
somebody who speaks my language.
I really believe I've finished, Daddy. Nothing else occurs to me at
the moment--I'll try to write a longer letter next time.
Yours always,
Judy
PS. The lettuce hasn't done at all well this year. It was so dry
early in the season.