LETTERS
December 26.
Darling Mother:--
Christmas day is like the Fourth of July, they set off fire crackers,
and it is so warm that you wear summer dresses. I wore my white dress.
I read last night to Granny from the minister’s book. You know he
wrote, not to be opened until Christmas. It is full of poems. The first
one says:
Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into here.
There are babies living about here, only their mothers don’t wash them
very much. There are no bath tubs and no hot water faucets. I take my
bath in the wash tub.
December 27.
I went to Sunday school Sunday, and there were 16 children. The teacher
comes from the school at Jonesville, 8 miles away. It is a fine school,
as fine as the Jamaica Plains grammar school, and ladies from the North
come down to teach. They teach only colored boys and girls.
The Sunday school was in the church, and all the boys and girls had
bare feet. Some are so poor they had no pennies to bring, and guess,
what do you think they put in the plate, EGGS!!! Only it was a hat. An
egg is worth a penny, and I eat a great many of them.
They had the same singing books we have at Boston. Some kind ladies
sent them down. The children sing much prettier than at home. The
teeniest can sing alto.
Everybody is very poor. Not Granny, her sons have been good to her.
People eat bacon. Granny often kills a chicken, but no one, not the
richest people, eat roast beef.
December 28.
I forgot to tell you, mother darling, that the Sunday school teacher
was colored. There were not any classes. She explained the lesson to
everybody. I like her very much. She kissed me good-bye and told me to
come again, but Sunday school is only once a month and so is church.
Tell Charity I wear the sun-bonnet some days, and Granny says I shall
wear it more when the sun gets hot.
Darling Mother, I think of Father a great deal because I sleep in his
bed and Granny showed me the first shoes he wore. They are all out at
the toes. They are not little because he went barefoot. At first I used
to cry but now I don’t. Granny says he was always jolly. I can make
Granny laugh when I tell her about Boston. She pretends not to believe
about elevators and sky-scrapers and telefones. I think she really
doesn’t truly believe about telefones.
December 30.
You don’t mind if I sometimes skip a day, do you, Mother? Because
sometimes I am busy. I am spinning. I am like Priscilla in Miles
Standish. It is more fun to spin than to sew or cook or wash or iron.
When Granny washes she makes a fire out-of-doors and boils water in a
great big iron pot.
December 31.
I have written a New Year’s poem for you.
Where did you come from, mother dear?
Out of the skies and the atmosphere.
Here is pussy Lucy, mother dear,
She is named after you, do you hear?
Pussy Lucy will die
And so will you and I.
Your affectionate daughter,
HAZEL TYLER.
January 1.
Dear Hazel,
A Happy New Year, darling! Last night I saw the Old Year out and the
New Year in at the Perkins. There were thirty of us, and we sang, and
Mr. Douglass played on his violin, until twelve o’clock. Then we all
said Happy New Year to one another.
[Illustration: “I am spinning. I am like Priscilla in Miles Standish”]
The New Year has begun well for me in my business. I have ten people
I go to every week. Just think of it! That is ten dollars a week
shampooing hair! They say I have a gentle touch. You used to like to
have me wash your hair, do you remember? I hope you are taking good
care of it.
You see I am getting quite rich. I do not do any laundry except Mrs.
Hollingsworth’s. Mrs. Hollingsworth sent the pink tea gown the other
day, and said it was not worth laundering again, and for me to keep it.
So I have it for my little Queen of Sheba.
Charity helps me sometimes. I want to tell you that I have grown
very fond of Charity. Her father is no account. He has gone away and
her mother has to work out as a cook. That leaves Charity all alone
until nine o’clock at night, so sometimes she comes up to see me. One
afternoon, just before Christmas, I didn’t get home until seven at
night, and I found Charity in the kitchen ironing. She had climbed up
the fire-escape, opened the kitchen window, and dropped in. She looked
up and said, “You bet now, I surprised you.” But when I looked at the
ironing I was more surprised. I couldn’t have done it better.
Of course, I asked her to stay to supper, and we had griddle cakes and
maple syrup and we talked about you. Then I told Charity stories. She
didn’t know Cinderella, or Jack and the Beanstalk, and it was a real
comfort to have her put her arms around me and bid me good-night. For
it was Christmas Eve, Hazel dear. When she left I cuddled the kitty. I
gave her a collar with a bell on it for Christmas.
We are having snow and cold east winds, while you are playing in the
sunshine without a coat. Mr. Perkins pretends to be very provoked every
time I see him, and says Boston has the finest climate in the world,
but I am glad you are escaping it. It has snowed and thawed and rained
and snowed again all in twenty-four hours.
The ladies in the church sewing-circle sent a box last week to a school
for colored children at Jonesville. They tell me that it is quite near
you. I wonder if you have heard of it.
I hope you are getting stronger every day, darling, and that when you
come home Charity will have to lend you her clothes, you will be so
plump.
Give Granny my love, and kiss pussy Lucy for me to-night. I have named
my kitten for you.
Your loving,
MOTHER.