Now, I know all of these things and a lot of others besides, but you can see how much I need to catch up. And oh, but it's fun! I look forward all day to evening, and then I put an 'engaged' on the door and get into my nice red bath robe and furry slippers and pile all cushions behind me on the couch, and light the brass student lamp at my elbow, and read and read and read one book isn't enough. I have four going at once. Just now, they're Tennyson's poems and Vanity Fair and Kipling's Plain Tales and--don't laugh--Little Women. I find that I am the only girl in college who wasn't brought up on Little woman. I haven't told anybody though ( that WOULD stamp me as queer ) . I just quietly went and bought it with $1.12 of my last month's allowance; and the next time somebody mentions pickled limes, I'll know what she is talking about!
( Ten o'clock bell. This is a very interrupted letter.)
- اشعار تنیسون
- ونی تی خوب
- داستانهای ساده کیپلینک
و نخندید آخریش " زنان کوچک " است.
فکر می کنم من تنها دختر دانشکده هستم که تاکنون کتاب " زنان کوچک " را نخوانده بود ، این موضوع را هم تاکنون به کسی نگفته ام( وگرنه تهمت زشت به من می زنند) من خیلی بی سرو صدا رفتم و آن را یک دلار و دوازده سنت از آخرین پول تو جیبی ماهانه ام خریدم. دفعه ی دیگر اگر کسی گوشه ای از این حرفها بزند ، من زود متوجه می شوم که دارد در چه موردی صحبت می کند.
( زنگ ساعت ده زده شد، این نامه ناجوری بود
20th Jan. Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Did you ever have a sweet baby girl who was stolen from the cradle in infancy?
Maybe I am she! If we were in a novel, that would be the denouement, wouldn't it?
It's really awfully queer not to know what one is--sort of exciting and romantic. There are such a lot of possibilities. Maybe I'm not American; lots of people aren't. I may be straight descended from the ancient Romans, or I may be a Viking's daughter, or I may be the child of a Russian exile and belong by right in a Siberian prison, or maybe I'm a Gipsy--I think perhaps I am. I have a very WANDERING spirit, though I haven't as yet had much chance to develop it.
Do you know about that one scandalous blot in my career the time I ran away from the asylum because they punished me for stealing cookies?
It's down in the books free for any Trustee to read. But really, Daddy, what could you expect? When you put a hungry little nine-year girl in the pantry scouring knives, with the cookie jar at her elbow, and go off and leave her alone; and then suddenly pop in again, wouldn't you expect to find her a bit crumby? And then when you jerk her by the elbow and box her ears, and make her leave the table when pudding comes, and tell all the other children that it's because she's a thief, wouldn't you expect her to run away?
I only ran four miles. They caught me and brought me back; and every day for a week I was tied, like a naughty puppy, to a stake in the back yard while the other children were out at recess.
Oh, dear! There's the chapel bell, and after chapel I have a committee meeting. I'm sorry because I meant to write you a very entertaining letter this time.
Auf Wiedersehen Cher Daddy, Pax tibi!
PS. There's one thing I'm perfectly sure of I'm not a Chinaman.