Julia Pendleton has invited me to visit her for the Christmas holidays. How does that strike you, Mr. Smith? Fancy Jerusha Abbott, of the John Grier Home, sitting at the tables of the rich. I don’t know why Julia wants me—she seems to be getting quite attached to me of late. I should, to tell the truth, very much prefer going to Sallie’s, but Julia asked me first, so if I go anywhere, it must be to New York instead of to Worcester. I ’m rather awed at the prospect of meeting Pendletons en masse, and also I ’d have to get a lot of new clothes—so, Daddy dear, if you write that you would prefer having me remain quietly at college, I will bow to your wishes with my usual sweet docility.
I ’m engaged at odd moments with the “Life and Letters of Thomas Huxley”—it makes nice, light reading to pick up between times. Do you know what an archæopteryx is? It ’s a bird. And a stereognathus? I ’m not sure myself but I think it ’s a missing link, like a bird with teeth or a lizard with wings. No, it is n’t either; I ’ve just looked in the book. It ’s a mesozoic mammal.
I ’ve elected economics this year—very illuminating subject. When I finish that I ’m going to take Charity and Reform; then, Mr. Trustee, I ’ll know just how an orphan asylum ought to be run. Don’t you think I ’d make an admirable voter if I had my rights? I was twenty-one last week. This is an awfully wasteful country to throw away such an honest, educated, conscientious, intelligent citizen as I would be.
Yours always,
Judy.
December 7th.
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Thank you for permission to visit Julia—I take it that silence means consent.
Such a social whirl as we ’ve been having! The Founder’s dance came last week—this was the first year that any of us could attend; only upper classmen being allowed.