loose and floating
off--and the Freshmen wore green tissue-paper hats with long streamers.
Also we had a band in blue uniforms hired from town. Also about a
dozen funny people, like clowns in a circus, to keep the spectators
entertained between events.

Julia was dressed as a fat country man with a linen duster and whiskers
and baggy umbrella. Patsy Moriarty (Patrici really. Did you ever hear
such a name? Mrs. Lippett couldn't have done better) who is tall and
thin was Julia's wife in a absurd green bonnet over one ear. Waves of
laughter followed them the whole length of the course. Julia played
the part extremely well. I never dreamed that a Pendleton could
display so much comedy spirit--begging Master Jervie' pardon; I don't
consider him a true Pendleton though, any more than I consider you a
true Trustee.

Sallie and I weren't in the parade because we were entered for the
events. And what do you think? We both won! At least in something.
We tried for the running broad jump and lost; but Sallie won the
pole-vaulting (seven feet three inches) and I won the fifty-yard sprint
(eight seconds).

I was pretty panting at the end, but it was great fun, with the whole
class waving balloons and cheering and yelling:

What's the matter with Judy Abbott?
She's all right.
Who's all right?
Judy Ab-bott!

That, Daddy, is true fame. Then trotting back to the dressing tent and
being rubbed down with alcohol and having a lemon to suck. You see
we're very professional. It's a fine thing to win an event for your
class, because the class that wins the most gets the athletic cup for
the year. The Seniors won it this year, with seven events to their
credit. The athletic association gave a dinner in the gymnasium to all
of the winners. We had fried soft-shell crabs, and chocolate ice-cream
moulded in the shape of basket balls.

I sat up half of last night reading Jane Eyre. Are you old enough,
Daddy, to remember sixty years ago? And, if so, did people talk that
way?

The haughty Lady Blanche says to the footman, 'Stop your chattering,
knave, and do my bidding.' Mr. Rochester talks about the metal welkin
when he means the sky; and as for the mad woman who laughs like a hyena
and sets fire to bed curtains and tears up wedding veils and
BITES--it's melodrama of the purest, but just the same, you read and
read and read. I can't see how any girl could ha