My dear Mr. Teddy,
Jimmy has just brought me your letter, in great excitement, and I am taking the liberty of answering it myself, as I don't think he could do himself justice under the present circumstances. Mr. Teddy, did you ever have a soft spot for a little girl, when you were about eleven or twelve? I had one for a little boy; he was older than I, about fourteen; his name was Robert, and he had freckles; I think he squinted, too, and he teased all the girls a great deal. I am sure he was a very horrid little boy, as I look back, but at that time I thought he was wonderful, and it almost broke my heart when he said he had no use for little yellow-haired girls and took a girl with two brown pigtails to a big children's party, instead of me.
Jimmy has a very soft spot for his godchild, and it is more than a passing fancy with him. You see, his family, while not actually poverty-stricken, are not as well off as they used to be, and Jimmy has practically supported Andree himself all the year, through countless little odd jobs. I have seen him on the coldest winter days, chopping wood or going from door to door asking to shovel snow, and his fingers were so red and frozen he could scarcely hold the shovel; yet he was always ready, with a smile, to do more work for his "kid in France." Andree is his godchild, his sister, his whole family to him; and he shoulders the responsibility of looking after her with all the seriousness of a little old man. Now, right in the middle of this flourishing state of affairs you come, with your big American pockets filled with elastic candy and bon-bons, and at a moment's notice you produce cold-cream, perfumed with strawberry and vanilla, and snow-covered cakes such as Jimmy can never hope to equal. What little girl would not turn fickle to her first love in the presence of such a display? At first Jimmy was filled with natural jealousy at your intrusion. He was all for going over there and giving you a piece of his mind; but since receiving your letter he has, almost incredibly, come to feel sorry for you because, as he says, "it must be pretty tuf to be all alone over there, and I guess he thinks my godchild is a peach, all right." And Jimmy is right; you must be so very very lonesome! And yet couldn't we manage to cheer you up a little without taking Jimmy's godchild away from him? I don't know of any little godchild I could give you in exchange, but I do know of a girl who lives with an invalid mother in a big white house on a hill, and who would only be too glad to have a soldier for a godson and send him little packages of cigarettes, and pictures of movie stars (of which she has a great collection) and—oh tell him about home and friends and people and everything.
I am sending you this letter care of Andrée Leblanc; if you would care for the arrangement I suggest, would you let me know?
Sincerely yours,
Elizabeth Winslow
18 rue d'Autancourt, Paris.
November 2, 1917.
My dear godfather: