Daddy-Long-Legs | Page 6

I had a very
serious talk. She told me how to behave all the rest of my life, and
especially how to behave towards the kind gentleman who is doing so
much for me. I must take care to be Very Respectful.
But how can one be very respectful to a person who wishes to be called
John Smith? Why couldn't you have picked out a name with a little
personality? I might as well write letters to Dear Hitching-Post or Dear
Clothes-Prop.
I have been thinking about you a great deal this summer; having
somebody take an interest in me after all these years makes me feel as
though I had found a sort of family. It seems as though I belonged to
somebody now, and it's a very comfortable sensation. I must say,

however, that when I think about you, my imagination has very little to
work upon. There are just three things that I know:
I. You are tall.
II. You are rich.
III. You hate girls.
I suppose I might call you Dear Mr. Girl-Hater. Only that's rather
insulting to me. Or Dear Mr. Rich-Man, but that's insulting to you, as
though money were the only important thing about you. Besides, being
rich is such a very external quality. Maybe you won't stay rich all your
life; lots of very clever men get smashed up in Wall Street. But at least
you will stay tall all your life! So I've decided to call you Dear
Daddy-Long-Legs. I hope you won't mind. It's just a private pet name
we won't tell Mrs. Lippett.
The ten o'clock bell is going to ring in two minutes. Our day is divided
into sections by bells. We eat and sleep and study by bells. It's very
enlivening; I feel like a fire horse all of the time. There it goes! Lights
out. Good night.
Observe with what precision I obey rules--due to my training in the
John Grier Home. Yours most respectfully, Jerusha Abbott To Mr.
Daddy-Long-Legs Smith

1st October Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
I love college and I love you for sending me--I'm very, very happy, and
so excited every moment of the time that I can scarcely sleep. You can't
imagine how different it is from the John Grier Home. I never dreamed
there was such a place in the world. I'm feeling sorry for everybody
who isn't a girl and who can't come here; I am sure the college you
attended when you were a boy couldn't have been so nice.
My room is up in a tower that used to be the contagious ward before

they built the new infirmary. There are three other girls on the same
floor of the tower--a Senior who wears spectacles and is always asking
us please to be a little more quiet, and two Freshmen named Sallie
McBride and Julia Rutledge Pendleton. Sallie has red hair and a turn-up
nose and is quite friendly; Julia comes from one of the first families in
New York and hasn't noticed me yet. They room together and the
Senior and I have singles. Usually Freshmen can't get singles; they are
very scarce, but I got one without even asking. I suppose the registrar
didn't think it would be right to ask a properly brought-up girl to room
with a foundling. You see there are advantages!
My room is on the north-west corner with two windows and a view.
After you've lived in a ward for eighteen years with twenty room-mates,
it is restful to be alone. This is the first chance I've ever had to get
acquainted with Jerusha Abbott. I think I'm going to like her.
Do you think you are?
Tuesday
They are organizing the Freshman basket-ball team and there's just a
chance that I shall get in it. I'm little of course, but terribly quick and
wiry and tough. While the others are hopping about in the air, I can
dodge under their feet and grab the ball. It's loads of fun practising--out
in the athletic field in the afternoon with the trees all red and yellow
and the air full of the smell of burning leaves, and everybody laughing
and shouting. These are the happiest girls I ever saw--and I am the
happiest of all!
I meant to write a long letter and tell you all the things I'm learning
(Mrs. Lippett said you wanted to know), but 7th hour has just rung, and
in ten minutes I'm due at the athletic field in gymnasium clothes. Don't
you hope I'll get in the team?
Yours always, Jerusha Abbott
PS. (9 o'clock.)

Sallie McBride just poked her head in at my door. This is what she
said:
`I'm so homesick that I simply can't stand it. Do you feel that way?'
I smiled a little