dear daddy-long-legs,

i've just a moment, because i must attend two classes, pack a trunk

and a suit-case, and catch the four-o'clock train--but i couldn't

go without sending a word to let you know how much i appreciate

my christmas box.

i love the furs and the necklace and the liberty scarf and the gloves

and handkerchiefs and books and purse--and most of all i love you!

but daddy, you have no business to spoil me this way. i'm only human--

and a girl at that. how can i keep my mind sternly fixed on a

studious career, when you deflect me with such worldly frivolities?

i have strong suspicions now as to which one of the john grier

trustees used to give the christmas tree and the sunday ice-cream.

he was nameless, but by his works i know him! you deserve to be

happy for all the good things you do.

goodbye, and a very merry christmas.

yours always,

judy

ps. i am sending a slight token, too. do you think you would

like her if you knew her?

11th january

i meant to write to you from the city, daddy, but new york

is an engrossing place.

i had an interesting--and illuminating--time, but i'm glad i don't

belong to such a family! i should truly rather have the john grier

home for a background. whatever the drawbacks of my bringing up,

there was at least no pretence about it. i know now what people

mean when they say they are weighed down by things. the material

atmosphere of that house was crushing; i didn't draw a deep breath

until i was on an express train coming back. all the furniture

was carved and upholstered and gorgeous; the people i met were

beautifully dressed and low-voiced and well-bred, but it's the truth,

daddy, i never heard one word of real talk from the time we arrived

until we left. i don't think an idea ever entered the front door.

mrs. pendleton never thinks of anything but jewels and dressmakers

and social engagements. she did seem a different kind of mother from

mrs. mcbride! if i ever marry and have a family, i'm going to make them

as exactly like the mcbrides as i can. not for all the money in the

world would i ever let any children of mine develop into pendletons.

maybe it isn't polite to criticize people you've been visiting?

if it isn't, please excuse. this is very confidential, between you

and me.

i only saw master jervie once when he called at tea time,

and then i didn't have a chance to speak to him alone.

it was really disappointing after our nice time last summer.

i don't think he cares much for his relatives--and i am sure they

don't care much for him! julia's mother says he's unbalanced.

he's a socialist--except, thank heaven, he doesn't let his hair grow

and wear red ties. she can't imagine where he picked up his queer ideas;

the family have been church of england for generations. he throws

away his money on every sort of crazy reform, instead of spending it

on such sensible things as yachts and automobiles and polo ponies.

he does buy candy with it though! he sent julia and me each a box

for christmas.

you know, i think i'll be a socialist, too. you wouldn't mind,

would you, daddy? they're quite different from anarchists;

they don't believe in blowing people up. probably i am one by rights;

i belong to the proletariat. i haven't determined yet just which

kind i am going to be. i will look into the subject over sunday,

and declare my principles in my next.

i've seen loads of theatres and hotels and beautiful houses.

my mind is a confused jumble of onyx and gilding and mosaic floors

and palms. i'm still pretty breathless but i am glad to get back

to college and my books--i believe that i really am a student;

this atmosphere of academic calm i find more bracing than new york.

college is a very satisfying sort of life; the books and study

and regular classes keep you alive mentally, and then when your

mind gets tired, you have the gymnasium and outdoor athletics,

and always plenty of congenial friends who are thinking about the

same things you are. we spend a whole evening in nothing but talk--

talk--talk--and go to bed with a very uplifted feeling, as though we

had settled permanently some pressing world problems. and filling

in every crevice, there is always such a lot of nonsense--just silly

jokes about the little things that come up but very satisfying.

we do appreciate our own witticisms!

it isn't the great big pleasures that count the most; it's making

a great deal out of the little ones--i've discovered the true

secret of happiness, daddy, and that is to live in the now.

not to be for ever regretting the past, or anticipating the future;

but to get the most that you can out of this very instant.

it's like farming. you can have extensive farming and intensive

farming; well, i am going to have intensive living after this.

i'm going to enjoy every second, and i'm going to know i'm enjoying

it while i'm enjoying it. most people don't live; they just race.

they are trying to reach some goal far away on the horizon, and in the

heat of the going they get so breathless and panting that they lose

all sight of the beautiful, tranquil country they are passing through;

and then the first thing they know, they are old and worn out,

and it doesn't make any difference whether they've reached the goal

or not. i've decided to sit down by the way and pile up a lot

of little happinesses, even if i never become a great author.

did you ever know such a philosopheress as i am developing into?

yours ever,

judy

ps. it's raining cats and dogs tonight. two puppies and a kitten

have just landed on the window-sill.

dear comrade,

hooray! i'm a fabian.

that's a socialist who's willing to wait. we don't want the social

revolution to come tomorrow morning; it would be too upsetting.

we want it to come very gradually in the distant future, when we

shall all be prepared and able to sustain the shock.

in the meantime, we must be getting ready, by instituting industrial,

educational and orphan asylum reforms.

yours, with fraternal love,

judy

monday, 3rd hour