I have hesitated a long time before writing because I do not know that I
have the right to call you a friend, or even an acquaintance in the
commonly accepted sense of that term. It is so long since you and I went
to school together, and we have been so widely separated since then that
perhaps you do not even remember me, and may consider my letter an
intrusion. I hope not, for I should hate to rank with the girls who are
writing to strangers under the license of mistaken patriotism.
My reason for writing you is that a good many years ago you did something
very nice and kind for me one day, in fact you helped me twice, although
I don't suppose you knew it. Then the other day, when you were going to
camp and I sat in my car and watched you, it suddenly came over me that
you were doing it again; this time a great big wonderful thing for me;
and doing it just as quietly and inconsequentially as you did it before;
and all at once I realized how splendid it was and wanted to thank you.
It came over me, too, that I had never thanked you for the other times,
and very likely you never dreamed that you had done anything at all.
You see I was only a little girl, very much frightened, because Chuck
Woodcock had teased me about my curls and said that he was going to catch
me and cut them off, and send me home to my aunt that way, and she would
turn me out of the house. He had been frightening me for several days, so
that I was afraid to go to school alone, and yet I would not tell my aunt
because I was afraid she would take me away from the Public School and
send me to a Private School which I did not want. But that day I had seen
Chuck Woodcock steal in behind the hedge, ahead of the girls. The others
were ahead of me and I was all out of breath--running to catch up because
I was afraid to pass him alone; and just as I got near two of them,--Mary
Wurts and Caroline Meadows, you remember them, don't you?--they gave a
scream and pitched headlong on the sidewalk. They had tripped over a wire
he had stretched from the tree to the hedge. I stopped short and got
behind a tree, and I remember how the tears felt in my throat, but I was
afraid to let them out because Chuck would call me a crybaby and I hated
that. And just then you came along behind me and jumped through the hedge
and caught Chuck and gave him an awful whipping. "Licking" I believe we
called it then. I remember how condemned I felt as I ran by the hedge and
knew in my heart that I was glad you were hurting him because he had been
so cruel to me. He used to pull my curls whenever he sat behind me in
recitation.
I remember you came in to school late with your hair all mussed up
beautifully, and a big tear in your coat, and a streak of mud on your
face. I was so worried lest the teacher would find out you had been
fighting and make you stay after school. Because you see I knew in my
heart that you had been winning a battle for me, and if anybody had to
stay after school I wished it could be me because of what you had done
for me. But you came in laughing as you always did, and looking as if
nothing in the world unusual had happened, and when you passed my desk
you threw before me the loveliest pink rose bud I ever saw. That was the
second thing you did for me.
Perhaps you won't understand how nice that was, either, for you see you
didn't know how unhappy I had been. The girls hadn't been very friendly
with me. They told me I was "stuck up," and they said I was too young to
be in their classes anyway and ought to go to Kindergarten. It was all
very hard for me because I longed to be big and have them for my friends.
I was very lonely in that great big house with only my aunt and
grandfather for company. But the girls wouldn't be friends at all until
they saw you give me that rose, and that turned the tide. They were crazy
about you, every one of them, and, they made up to me after that and told
me their secrets and shared their lunch and we had great times. And it
was all because you gave me the rose that day. The rose itself was lovely
and I was tremendously happy over it for its own sake, but it meant a
whole lot to me besides, and opened the little world of school to my
longing feet. I always wanted to thank you for it, but you looked as if
you didn't want me to, so I never dared; and lately I wasn't quite sure
you knew me, because you never looked my way any more.
But when I saw you standing on the platform the other day with the other
drafted men, it all came over me how you were giving up the life you had
planned to go out and fight for me and other girls like me. I hadn't
thought of the war that way before, although, of course, I had heard that
thought expressed in speeches; but it never struck into my heart until I
saw the look on your face. It was a kind of "knightliness," if there is
such a word, and when I thought about it I realized it was the very same
look you had worn when you burst through the hedge after Chuck Woodcock,
and again when you came back and threw that rose on my desk. Although,
you had a big, broad boy's-grin on your face then, and were chewing gum I
remember quite distinctly; and the other day you looked so serious and
sorry as if it meant a great deal to you to go, but you were giving up
everything gladly without even thinking of hesitating. The look on your
face was a man's look, not a boy's.
It has meant so much to me to realize this last great thing that you are
doing for me and for the other girls of our country that I had to write
and tell you how much I appreciate it.
I have been wondering whether some one has been knitting you a sweater
yet, and the other things that they knit for soldiers; and if they
haven't, whether you would let me send them to you? It is the only thing
I can do for you who have done so much for me.
I hope you will not think I am presuming to have written this on the
strength of a childish acquaintance. I wish you all honors that can come
to you on such a quest as yours, and I had almost said all good luck,
only that that word sounds too frivolous and pagan for such a serious
matter; so I will say all safety for a swift accomplishment of your task
and a swift homecoming. I used to think when I was a little child that
nothing could ever hurt you or make you afraid, and I cannot help feeling
now that you will come through the fire unscathed. May I hope to hear
from you about the sweater and things? And may I sign myself
Your friend?