Dear Mr. Denton:
First of all, a thousand thanks for your letter, the books, and the fruit. But how can you prate of 'fruit' in so commonplace a fashion, and then shower me with works of art, full of delicious mystery? Sarah says she fears I shall never be satisfied with Green Hill fare again. I believe she has grounds. The books are most welcome. I've been peering at Wells, and peeking at Bennett, and holding my breath over the Barrie plays. I shall gorge myself on the printed page during the next few weeks. The dearest of all is an old friend who comes to me in a new dress. How in the world did you remember my passion for Alice, and her unchanging Wonderland? My own copy is worn and dog-eared. But this Alice is fresh and smiling—the illustrations are too quaint—and I love her already. Thanks, and again, thanks!
Yes, Doctor Denton has become a frequent visitor at the Carroll Cottage. Father likes him very much and they have lengthy arguments in the study, evenings. Sometimes a detached word or the scent of a pipe drifts up to me through the open door, and, occasionally, the two come and sit with me awhile. It was a great surprise to me to discover your nephew in our new doctor. One would never dream that you belonged together.
I am sure that father is glad to have some one to play with. There is no question of being 'kind.' At all events, Doctor Denton does not appear to me a lonely person. On the contrary.
The Lyric Hour and I are intimates. I have never had a book mean so much to me, not even Alice, who keeps me alive. I wonder if you know the author of these exquisite verses? Please, if you do, do not tell me anything about him, but—do you think I might write to him? I should like to tell him of the pleasure he has given me, and I should like to tell him through you. I'd rather he did not know my name. This may sound very foolish, as I know that writers have many letters from the public, but we shut-in people have moods. I would love to get to know him a little, on paper. Do you think he would mind? Somehow, from his book, I feel he might understand.
Father wouldn't care, I am sure. The Queen can do no wrong! So if you have no objection to playing postman, nothing remains for me save to select a new pen and commence my letter. But I will not do that until I hear from you.
All in this house send love, except Sarah, who, I am sure, would not think it quite proper. But she would tender her respectful regards to you, did she know I was writing.
Gratefully and affectionately,
Mavis Carroll
And now, Diary, I have set the wheels revolving and what the next White Mountain post will bring forth, I know not.
Green Hill
July 5