November 12.
I wrote letters to-day. Mother Bab and David write such lovely ones to me that I have to try hard to keep up my end of it. Sometimes David tells me he is anxious to supply me with the beet juice, cream and flour whenever I'm ready to begin the prima donna act. I can hear his laugh when I read the letter. Sometimes he's serious and talks about the crops of their farm and tells me the community news like an old grandmother. Phares Eby writes me an occasional letter, a stilted little note that sounds just like Phares. It always has some good advice in it. Aunt Maria's letters and daddy's come every week. I'd feel lost without them. I like to feel that everybody I care for at home is interested in and cares for me even if I am in Philadelphia.
CHAPTER XXI
DIARY—CHRYSALIS
December 3.
I'm as miserable as any mortal can be! Oh, I'm still having a good time going around seeing the city, visiting the stores and museums, practicing hard in music, pleasing my teacher. But just the same, I'm not happy. The reason is this: I want pretty gowns like Virginia wears, I want to dance and play cards and see real plays. I dare say I'm a contemptible sinner to want all that after the way I've been brought up. I ought to be satisfied with all the wonderful things I enjoy in this big city but I'm not.
Last week Virginia entertained the Bridge Club and tried to persuade me to learn to play and come to the party. Royal was provoked about it. He thinks I should learn to play. I told him I should have no peace if I learned to do such things.
"Peace," he scorned, "no one has peace these days. The whole world is in a turmoil. Do you think your little Quaker-like girls of Lancaster County have peace these days?"
"They have peace of mind and conscience."