I'll try for a minute to talk about something else.
I never told you, did I, that Amasai and Carrie got married last May?
They are still working here, but so far as I can see it has spoiled them both.
She used to laugh when he tramped in mud or dropped ashes on the floor, but now—you should hear her scold!
And she doesn't curl her hair any longer.
Amasai, who used to be so obliging about beating rugs and carrying wood, grumbles if you suggest such a thing.
Also his neckties are quite dingy—black and brown, where they used to be scarlet and purple.
I've determined never to marry.
It's a deteriorating process, evidently.
There isn't much of any farm news.
The animals are all in the best of health.
The pigs are unusually fat, the cows seem contented and the hens are laying well.
Are you interested in poultry?
If so, let me recommend that invaluable little work, 200 Eggs per Hen per Year.
I am thinking of starting an incubator next spring and raising broilers.
You see I'm settled at Lock Willow permanently.
I have decided to stay until I've written 114 novels like Anthony Trollope's mother.
Then I shall have completed my life work and can retire and travel.
Mr. James McBride spent last Sunday with us.
Fried chicken and ice-cream for dinner, both of which he appeared to appreciate.
I was awfully glad to see him; he brought a momentary reminder that the world at large exists.
Poor Jimmie is having a hard time peddling his bonds.
The 'Farmers' National' at the Corners wouldn't have anything to do with them in spite of the fact that they pay six per cent. interest and sometimes seven.
I think he'll end up by going home to Worcester and taking a job in his father's factory.
He's too open and confiding and kind-hearted ever to make a successful financier.
But to be the manager of a flourishing overall factory is a very desirable position, don't you think?
Just now he turns up his nose at overalls, but he'll come to them.
I hope you appreciate the fact that this is a long letter from a person with writer's cramp.
But I still love you, Daddy dear, and I'm very happy.
With beautiful scenery all about, and lots to eat and a comfortable four-post bed and a ream of blank paper and a pint of ink—what more does one want in the world?
Yours as always, Judy
PS.
The postman arrives with some more news.
We are to expect Master Jervie on Friday next to spend a week.
That's a very pleasant prospect—only I am afraid my poor book will suffer.
Master Jervie is very demanding.
27th August
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Where are you, I wonder?
I never know what part of the world you are in, but I hope you're not in New York during this awful weather.
I hope you're on a mountain peak (but not in Switzerland; somewhere nearer) looking at the snow and thinking about me.
Please be thinking about me.
I'm quite lonely and I want to be thought about.
Oh, Daddy, I wish I knew you!
Then when we were unhappy we could cheer each other up.
I don't think I can stand much more of Lock Willow.
I'm thinking of moving.
Sallie is going to do settlement work in Boston next winter.
Don't you think it would be nice for me to go with her, then we could have a studio together?
I would write while she SETTLED and we could be together in the evenings.