I went to Sunday school Sunday, and there were 16 children. The teacher comes from the school at Jonesville, 8 miles away. It is a fine school, as fine as the Jamaica Plains grammar school, and ladies from the North come down to teach. They teach only colored boys and girls.
The Sunday school was in the church, and all the boys and girls had bare feet. Some are so poor they had no pennies to bring, and guess, what do you think they put in the plate, EGGS!!! Only it was a hat. An egg is worth a penny, and I eat a great many of them.
They had the same singing books we have at Boston. Some kind ladies sent them down. The children sing much prettier than at home. The teeniest can sing alto.
Everybody is very poor. Not Granny, her sons have been good to her. People eat bacon. Granny often kills a chicken, but no one, not the richest people, eat roast beef.
December 28.
I forgot to tell you, mother darling, that the Sunday school teacher was colored. There were not any classes. She explained the lesson to everybody. I like her very much. She kissed me good-bye and told me to come again, but Sunday school is only once a month and so is church.
Tell Charity I wear the sun-bonnet some days, and Granny says I shall wear it more when the sun gets hot.
Darling Mother, I think of Father a great deal because I sleep in his bed and Granny showed me the first shoes he wore. They are all out at the toes. They are not little because he went barefoot. At first I used to cry but now I don’t. Granny says he was always jolly. I can make Granny laugh when I tell her about Boston. She pretends not to believe about elevators and sky-scrapers and telefones. I think she really doesn’t truly believe about telefones.
December 30.
You don’t mind if I sometimes skip a day, do you, Mother? Because sometimes I am busy. I am spinning. I am like Priscilla in Miles Standish. It is more fun to spin than to sew or cook or wash or iron. When Granny washes she makes a fire out-of-doors and boils water in a great big iron pot.