he rug from mother, the hot
water bottle from grandmother who is always worrying for fear I shall
catch cold in this climate--and the yellow paper from my little brother
Harry. My sister Isabel gave me the silk stockings, and Aunt Susan the
Matthew Arnold poems; Uncle Harry (little Harry is named after him)
gave me the dictionary. He wanted to send chocolates, but I insisted
on synonyms.

You don't object, do you, to playing the part of a composite family?

And now, shall I tell you about my vacation, or are you only interested
in my education as such? I hope you appreciate the delicate shade of
meaning in 'as such'. It is the latest addition to my vocabulary.

The girl from Texas is named Leonora Fenton. (Almost as funny as
Jerusha, isn't it?) I like her, but not so much as Sallie McBride; I
shall never like any one so much as Sallie--except you. I must always
like you the best of all, because you're my whole family rolled into
one. Leonora and I and two Sophomores have walked 'cross country every
pleasant day and explored the whole neighbourhood, dressed in short
skirts and knit jackets and caps, and carrying shiny sticks to whack
things with. Once we walked into town--four miles--and stopped at a
restaurant where the college girls go for dinner. Broiled lobster (35
cents), and for dessert, buckwheat cakes and maple syrup (15 cents).
Nourishing and cheap.

It was such a lark! Especially for me, because it was so awfully
different from the asylum--I feel like an escaped convict every time I
leave the campus. Before I thought, I started to tell the others what
an experience I was having. The cat was almost out of the bag when I
grabbed it by its tail and pulled it back. It's awfully hard for me
not to tell everything I know. I'm a very confiding soul by nature; if
I didn't have you to tell things to, I'd burst.

We had a molasses candy pull last Friday evening, given by the house
matron of Fergussen to the left-behinds in the other halls. There were
twenty-two of us altogether, Freshmen and Sophomores and juniors and
Seniors all united in amicable accord. The kitchen is huge, with
copper pots and kettles hanging in rows on the stone wall--the littlest
casserole among them about the size of a wash boiler. Four hundred
girls live in Fergussen. The chef, in a white cap and apron, fetched
out twenty-two other white caps and aprons--I can't imagine where he
got so many--and we all turned ourselves into