P. S. (2) If you are thinking of raising chickens, let me recommend Buff Orpingtons. They have n’t any pin feathers.
P. S. (3) I wish I could send you a pat of the nice, fresh butter I churned yesterday. I ’m a fine dairy-maid!
P. S. (4) This is a picture of Miss Jerusha Abbott, the future great author, driving home the cows.
Sunday.
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Is n’t it funny? I started to write to you yesterday afternoon, but as far as I got was the heading, “Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,” and then I remembered I ’d promised to pick some blackberries for supper, so I went off and left the sheet lying on the table, and when I came back to-day, what do you think I found sitting in the middle of the page? A real true Daddy-Long-Legs!
I picked him up very gently by one leg, and dropped him out of the window. I would n’t hurt one of them for the world. They always remind me of you.
We hitched up the spring wagon this morning and drove to the Center to church. It ’s a sweet little white frame church with a spire and three Doric columns in front (or maybe Ionic—I always get them mixed).