st sprinkle tents about in the
woods and turn the boys outside. It's going to be such a nice, healthy
summer exercising out of doors every minute. Jimmie McBride is going
to teach me how to ride horseback and paddle a canoe, and how to shoot
and--oh, lots of things I ought to know. It's the kind of nice, jolly,
care-free time that I've never had; and I think every girl deserves it
once in her life. Of course I'll do exactly as you say, but please,
PLEASE let me go, Daddy. I've never wanted anything so much.

This isn't Jerusha Abbott, the future great author, writing to you.
It's just Judy--a girl.

9th June

Mr. John Smith,

SIR: Yours of the 7th inst. at hand. In compliance with the
instructions received through your secretary, I leave on Friday next to
spend the summer at Lock Willow Farm.

I hope always to remain,
(Miss) Jerusha Abbott

LOCK WILLOW FARM,
3rd August

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

It has been nearly two months since I wrote, which wasn't nice of me, I
know, but I haven't loved you much this summer--you see I'm being frank!

You can't imagine how disappointed I was at having to give up the
McBrides' camp. Of course I know that you're my guardian, and that I
have to regard your wishes in all matters, but I couldn't see any
REASON. It was so distinctly the best thing that could have happened
to me. If I had been Daddy, and you had been Judy, I should have said,
'Bless yo my child, run along and have a good time; see lots of new
people and learn lots of new things; live out of doors, and get strong
and well and rested for a year of hard work.'

But not at all! Just a curt line from your secretary ordering me to
Lock Willow.

It's the impersonality of your commands that hurts my feelings. It
seems as though, if you felt the tiniest little bit for me the way I
feel for you, you'd sometimes send me a message that you'd written with
your own hand, instead of those beastly typewritten secretary's notes.
If there were the slightest hint that you cared, I'd do anything on
earth to please you.

I know that I was to write nice, long, detailed letters without ever
expecting any answer. You're living up to your side of the
bargain--I'm being educated--and I suppose you're thinking I'm not
living up to mine!

But, Dad