10Th June

Dear Daddy,

This is the hardest letter I ever wrote, but I have decided what I must

do, and there isn't going to be any turning back. It is very sweet and

generous and dear of you to wish to send me to Europe this summer--for

the moment I was intoxicated by the idea; but sober second thoughts

said no. It would be rather illogical of me to refuse to take your

money for college, and then use it instead just for amusement! You

mustn't get me used to too many luxuries. One doesn't miss what one

has never had; but it's awfully hard going without things after one has

commenced thinking they are his--hers (English language needs another

pronoun) by natural right. Living with Sallie and Julia is an awful

strain on my stoical philosophy. They have both had things from the

time they were babies; they accept happiness as a matter of course.

The World, they think, owes them everything they want. Maybe the World

does--in any case, it seems to acknowledge the debt and pay up. But as

for me, it owes me nothing, and distinctly told me so in the beginning.

I have no right to borrow on credit, for there will come a time when

the World will repudiate my claim.

I seem to be floundering in a sea of metaphor--but I hope you grasp my

meaning? Anyway, I have a very strong feeling that the only honest

thing for me to do is to teach this summer and begin to support myself.

MAGNOLIA,

Four days later

I'd got just that much written, when--what do you think happened? The

maid arrived with Master Jervie's card. He is going abroad too this

summer; not with Julia and her family, but entirely by himself I told

him that you had invited me to go with a lady who is chaperoning a

party of girls. He knows about you, Daddy. That is, he knows that my

father and mother are dead, and that a kind gentleman is sending me to

college; I simply didn't have the courage to tell him about the John

Grier Home and all the rest. He thinks that you are my guardian and a

perfectly legitimate old family friend. I have never told him that I

didn't know you--that would seem too queer!

Anyway, he insisted on my going to Europe. He said that it was a

necessary part of my education and that I mustn't think of refusing.

Also, that he would be in Paris at the same time, and that we would run

away from the chaperon occasionally and have dinner together at nice,

funny, foreign restaurants.

Well, Daddy, it did appeal to me! I almost weakened; if he hadn't been

so dictatorial, maybe I should have entirely weakened. I can be

enticed step by step, but I WON'T be forced. He said I was a silly,

foolish, irrational, quixotic, idiotic, stubborn child (those are a few

of his abusive adjectives; the rest escape me), and that I didn't know

what was good for me; I ought to let older people judge. We almost

quarrelled--I am not sure but that we entirely did!

In any case, I packed my trunk fast and came up here. I thought I'd

better see my bridges in flames behind me before I finished writing to

you. They are entirely reduced to ashes now. Here I am at Cliff Top

(the name of Mrs. Paterson's cottage) with my trunk unpacked and

Florence (the little one) already struggling with first declension

nouns. And it bids fair to be a struggle! She is a most uncommonly

spoiled child; I shall have to teach her first how to study--she has

never in her life concentrated on anything more difficult than

ice-cream soda water.

We use a quiet corner of the cliffs for a schoolroom--Mrs. Paterson

wishes me to keep them out of doors--and I will say that I find it

difficult to concentrate with the blue sea before me and ships

a-sailing by! And when I think I might be on one, sailing off to

foreign lands--but I WON'T let myself think of anything but Latin

Grammar.

The prepositions a or ab, absque, coram, cum, de e or ex, prae, pro,

sine, tenus, in, subter, sub and super govern the ablative.

So you see, Daddy, I am already plunged into work with my eyes

persistently set against temptation. Don't be cross with me, please,

and don't think that I do not appreciate your kindness, for I

do--always--always. The only way I can ever repay you is by turning

out a Very Useful Citizen (Are women citizens? I don't suppose they

are.) Anyway, a Very Useful Person. And when you look at me you can

say, 'I gave that Very Useful Person to the world.'

That sounds well, doesn't it, Daddy? But I don't wish to mislead you.

The feeling often comes over me that I am not at all remarkable; it is

fun to plan a career, but in all probability I shan't turn out a bit

different from any other ordinary person. I may end by marrying an

undertaker and being an inspiration to him in his work.

Yours ever,

Judy