Dear Margaret: I got your very nice, long letter a good many days ago. It didn’t come straight to me, but went to a wrong address first. I was very glad indeed to hear from you, and very, very sorry to learn of your getting your finger so badly hurt. I don’t think you were to blame at all, as you couldn’t know just how that villainous old “hoss” was going to bite. I do hope that it will heal up nicely and leave your finger strong. I am learning to play the mandolin, and we must get you a guitar, and we will learn a lot of duets together when I come home which will certainly not be later than next summer, and maybe earlier.
I suppose you have started to school again some time ago. I hope you like to go, and don’t have to study too hard. When one grows up, a thing they never regret is that they went to school long enough to learn all they could. It makes everything easier for them, and if they like books and study they can always content and amuse themselves that way even if other people are cross and tiresome, and the world doesn’t go to suit them.
You mustn’t think that I’ve forgotten somebody’s birthday. I couldn’t find just the thing I wanted to send, but I know where it can be had, and it will reach you in a few days. So, when it comes you’ll know it is for a birthday remembrance.
I think you write the prettiest hand of any little girl (or big one, either) I ever knew. The letters you make are as even and regular as printed ones. The next time you write, tell me how far you have to go to school and whether you go alone or not.
I am busy all the time writing for the papers and magazines all over the country, so I don’t have a chance to come home, but I’m going to try to come this winter. If I don’t I will by summer sure, and then you’ll have somebody to boss and make trot around with you.
Write me a letter whenever you have some time to spare, for I am always glad and anxious to hear from you. Be careful when you are on the streets not to feed shucks to strange dogs, or pat snakes on the head or shake hands with cats you haven’t been introduced to, or stroke the noses of electric car horses.
Hoping you are well and your finger is getting all right, I am, with much love, as ever,
Papa.
My Dear Margaret: Here it is summertime, and the bees are blooming and the flowers are singing and the birds making honey, and we haven’t been fishing yet. Well, there’s only one more month till July, and then we’ll go, and no mistake. I thought you would write and tell me about the high water around Pittsburg some time ago, and whether it came up to where you live, or not. And I haven’t heard a thing about Easter, and about the rabbit’s eggs—but I suppose you have learned by this time that eggs grow on egg plants and are not laid by rabbits.
I would like very much to hear from you oftener, it has been more than a month now since you wrote. Write soon and tell me how you are, and when school will be out, for we want plenty of holidays in July so we can have a good time. I am going to send you something nice the last of this week. What do you guess it will be?
Lovingly,
Papa.