he chamber-maid in our corridor wears blue checked gingham
aprons. I am going to get her some brown ones instead, and sink the
blue ones in the bottom of the lake. I have a reminiscent chill every
time I look at them.

17th November

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Such a blight has fallen over my literary career. I don't know whether
to tell you or not, but I would like some sympathy--silent sympathy,
please; don't re-open the wound by referring to it in your next letter.

I've been writing a book, all last winter in the evenings, and all the
summer when I wasn't teaching Latin to my two stupid children. I just
finished it before college opened and sent it to a publisher. He kept
it two months, and I was certain he was going to take it; but yesterday
morning an express parcel came (thirty cents due) and there it was back
again with a letter from the publisher, a very nice, fatherly
letter--but frank! He said he saw from the address that I was still at
college, and if I would accept some advice, he would suggest that I put
all of my energy into my lessons and wait until I graduated before
beginning to write. He enclosed his reader's opinion. Here it is:

'Plot highly improbable. Characterization exaggerated. Conversation
unnatural. A good deal of humour but not always in the best of taste.
Tell her to keep on trying, and in time she may produce a real book.'

Not on the whole flattering, is it, Daddy? And I thought I was making
a notable addition to American literature. I did truly. I was
planning to surprise you by writing a great novel before I graduated.
I collected the material for it while I was at Julia's last Christmas.
But I dare say the editor is right. Probably two weeks was not enough
in which to observe the manners and customs of a great city.

I took it walking with me yesterday afternoon, and when I came to the
gas house, I went in and asked the engineer if I might borrow his
furnace. He politely opened the door, and with my own hands I chucked
it in. I felt as though I had cremated my only child!

I went to bed last night utterly dejected; I thought I was never going
to amount to anything, and that you had thrown away your money for
nothing. But what do you think? I woke up this morning with a
beautiful new plot in my head, and I've been going about all day
planning my characters, just as happy as I could be. No one can ever
accuse