This morning (it’s Monday now) three boxes of chocolates came by express for Julia and Sallie and me.  What do you think of that?  To be getting candy from a man!

I begin to feel like a girl instead of a foundling.

I wish you’d come and have tea some day and let me see if I like you. 
But wouldn’t it be dreadful if I didn’t?  However, I know I should.

Bien!  I make you my compliments.
                           `Jamais je ne t’oublierai.’ 
          
                                             Judy

PS.  I looked in the glass this morning and found a perfectly new dimple that I’d never seen before.  It’s very curious.  Where do you suppose it came from?

9th June

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Happy day!  I’ve just finished my last examination Physiology. 
And now: 

Three months on a farm!

I don’t know what kind of a thing a farm is.  I’ve never been on one in my life.  I’ve never even looked at one (except from the car window), but I know I’m going to love it, and I’m going to love being free.

I am not used even yet to being outside the John Grier Home.  Whenever I think of it excited little thrills chase up and down my back.  I feel as though I must run faster and faster and keep looking over my shoulder to make sure that Mrs. Lippett isn’t after me with her arm stretched out to grab me back.

I don’t have to mind any one this summer, do I?

Your nominal authority doesn’t annoy me in the least; you are too far away to do any harm.  Mrs. Lippett is dead for ever, so far as I am concerned, and the Semples aren’t expected to overlook my moral welfare, are they?  No, I am sure not.  I am entirely grown up.  Hooray!

I leave you now to pack a trunk, and three boxes of teakettles
and dishes and sofa cushions and books. 
                                   Yours ever,
                                               Judy

PS.  Here is my physiology exam.  Do you think you could have passed?

Lockwillow farm,
Saturday night
Dearest Daddy-Long-Legs,

I’ve only just come and I’m not unpacked, but I can’t wait to tell you how much I like farms.  This is a heavenly, heavenly, heavenly spot!  The house is square like this:  And old.  A hundred years or so.  It has a veranda on the side which I can’t draw and a sweet porch in front.  The picture really doesn’t do it justice—­those things that look like feather dusters are maple trees, and the prickly ones that border the drive are murmuring pines and hemlocks.  It stands on the top of a hill and looks way off over miles of green meadows to another line of hills.

That is the way Connecticut goes, in a series of Marcelle waves; and Lock Willow Farm is just on the crest of one wave.  The barns used to be across the road where they obstructed the view, but a kind flash of lightning came from heaven and burnt them down.