Since you have no family with whom to correspond, he desires you to write in this way; also, he wishes to keep track of your progress.
He will never answer your letters, nor in the slightest particular take any notice of them.
He detests letter-writing and does not wish you to become a burden.
If any point should ever arise where an answer would seem to be imperative—such as in the event of your being expelled, which I trust will not occur—you may correspond with Mr. Griggs, his secretary.
These monthly letters are absolutely obligatory on your part; they are the only payment that Mr. Smith requires, so you must be as punctilious in sending them as though it were a bill that you were paying.
I hope that they will always be respectful in tone and will reflect credit on your training.
You must remember that you are writing to a Trustee of the John Grier Home.'
Jerusha's eyes longingly sought the door.
Her head was in a whirl of excitement, and she wished only to escape from Mrs. Lippett's platitudes and think.
She rose and took a tentative step backwards.
Mrs. Lippett detained her with a gesture; it was an oratorical opportunity not to be slighted.
'I trust that you are properly grateful for this very rare good fortune that has befallen you?
Not many girls in your position ever have such an opportunity to rise in the world.
You must always remember—'
'I—yes, ma'am, thank you.
I think, if that's all, I must go and sew a patch on Freddie Perkins's trousers.'
The door closed behind her, and Mrs. Lippett watched it with dropped jaw, her peroration in mid-air.
The Letters of Miss Jerusha Abbott to Mr. Daddy-Long-Legs Smith
215 FERGUSSEN HALL 24th September
Dear Kind-Trustee-Who-Sends-Orphans-to-College,
Here I am!
I travelled yesterday for four hours in a train.
It's a funny sensation, isn't it?
I never rode in one before.
College is the biggest, most bewildering place—I get lost whenever I leave my room.
I will write you a description later when I'm feeling less muddled; also I will tell you about my lessons.
Classes don't begin until Monday morning, and this is Saturday night.
But I wanted to write a letter first just to get acquainted.
It seems queer to be writing letters to somebody you don't know.
It seems queer for me to be writing letters at all—I've never written more than three or four in my life, so please overlook it if these are not a model kind.
Before leaving yesterday morning, Mrs. Lippett and I had a very serious talk.
She told me how to behave all the rest of my life, and especially how to behave towards the kind gentleman who is doing so much for me.
I must take care to be Very Respectful.
But how can one be very respectful to a person who wishes to be called John Smith?
Why couldn't you have picked out a name with a little personality?
I might as well write letters to Dear Hitching-Post or Dear Clothes-Prop.
I have been thinking about you a great deal this summer; having somebody take an interest in me after all these years makes me feel as though I had found a sort of family.
It seems as though I belonged to somebody now, and it's a very comfortable sensation.
I must say, however, that when I think about you, my imagination has very little to work upon.
There are just three things that I know:
I.
You are tall.
II.
You are rich.
III.
You hate girls.
I suppose I might call you Dear Mr. Girl-Hater.
Only that's rather insulting to me.
Or Dear Mr. Rich-Man, but that's insulting to you, as though money were the only important thing about you.
Besides, being rich is such a very external quality.