“Oh, Helenita, you little goose,” Jean laughed, shaking her head. The letter was so entirely typical of Helen and her vagaries. A mental flash of the dear old Contessa in a pearl cap came to her. She must remember to tell Cousin Beth about that tomorrow.
Doris’s letter was hurried and full of maternal cares.
DEAR SISTER:
We miss you awfully. Shad got hurt yesterday. His foot was jammed when a tree fell on it, but Joe is helping him, and I think they like each other better.
We are setting all the hens that want to set. The minute I notice one clucking I tell Mother, and we fix a nest for her. Father has the incubator going, but it may go out if we forget to put in oil, Shad says, and the hens don’t forget to keep on the nests. Bless Mother Nature, Mrs. Gorham says. She made caramel filling today the way you do, and it all ran out in the oven, and she said the funniest thing. “Thunder and lightning.” Just like that. And when I laughed, she told me not to because she ought not to say such things, but when cooking things went contrariwise, she just lost her head entirely. Isn’t that fun? Send me a pressed pink rose. I’d love it.
Lovingly yours,
Dorrie.
Last of all was Kit’s, six sheets of pencilled scribbling, crowded together on both sides.
I’m writing this the last thing at night, dear sister mine, when my brain is getting calm. Any old time the poet starts singing blithesomely of ye joys of springtide I hope he lands on this waste spot the first weeks in March. Jean, the frost is thawing in the roads, and that means the roads are simply falling in. You drive over one in the morning, and at night it isn’t there at all. There’s just a slump, understand. I’m so afraid that Princess will break her legs falling into a Gilead quagmire, I hardly dare drive her.
I suppose Mother has written that we have a guest coming from Saskatoon. I feel very philosophical about it. It will do Dad good, and I’ll be glad to see Honey again. Billie’s coming home for Easter, thank goodness. He’s human. Do you suppose you will be here then? What do you do all day? Gallivant lightsomely around the adjacent landscape with Cousin Beth, or languish with the Contessa and Carlota in some luxurious spot, making believe you’re nobility too. Remember, Jean Robbins, the rank is but the guinea’s stamp, “a man’s a man for a’ that.” Whatever would you do without your next sister to keep you balanced along strict republican lines? Don’t mind me. We’ve been studying comparisons between forms of government at school, and I’m completely jumbled on it all. I can’t make up my mind what sort of a government I want to rule over. This kingship business seems to be so uncertain. Poor old King Charles and Louis, and the rest. I’m to be Charlotte Corday at the prison window in one of our monthly tableaux. Like the picture?