As a contrast to the model letter already inserted (and which I beg leave to state was really written from school by a little girl of twelve), I will only add one which Kitty wrote after the old rule was set aside:—
MY DEAR LITTLE MAMMA,—Now that I can tell you every thing, I will answer the questions you asked in your last, and please, please don't think I am a vain thing because I seem to praise myself. It is truly what people say and do, and I never should have told if you had not asked me.
You want to know if I am liked. Why, mamma, I'm a leading girl. Others fight to walk with me, and bribe me with their nice things to sit by them. I'm at the head most of the time, and try not to be grand about it; so I help the others, and am as kind and generous as I know how to be.
Madam is just as dear and clever as she can be, and I'm actually fond of her. Don't tell, but I fancy I'm her favorite, for she lets me do ever so many things that she once forbid, and isn't half so strict as she was.
I'm truly glad I came, for I do get on, and haven't had a woe this ever so long. Isn't that nice? I'm homesick sometimes, and look at my blue paper, but I won't use it; so I go and have a good run, or chatter French with madam, and get cheered up before I write.
I miss you most at night, mamma dear, for then I have no one to tell my goods and bads to, and so get right. But not having you, I remember what you told me, that I always have God, and to him I open my heart as I never did before Prayers mean something to me now, and I say them so earnestly that sometimes I cry, and that makes me feel so fresh and strong and ready to go on again.
I do try to be good, and don't ask for any reward but to see you look proud and pleased when I come home. I'd give any thing if I could hug you now and then, because you don't mind if I tumble your collar: madam does, and that spoils the fun of it. Kissing is a kind of inspiration, you know; and one doesn't stop to think of clothes when one is so full of love, it must spill over in kisses.
That sounds sentimental, but I'm not going to take it out, because you'll understand what I mean, and won't laugh. That's the comfort of private letters, isn't it?
Now, good-by, my dearest mother. Lots of love to papa, and do both write soon to your own little PUSS.
Just as Kitty was folding it up, madam came by, and quite mechanically held out her hand for it, as she used to do.