and did not get mad about it, and I’ve often wanted you to know that no son could mean to me now what my little harum-scarum daughter means.  There has never been a day since you first looked into my eyes that I haven’t thanked God for you, and the thing I am most afraid of in life is that you may get sick or not be strong, and that is why I am so glad for you to be in such a charming old place as Twickenham Town.  You were wise, little daughter of mine, to choose so quaint and queer and dear a place in which to spend your summer, for there real things still count, and there is more time for the fine courtesies of life, and the hurry and rush of it, the push and scramble for place and power, is out of key with its quiet serenity and the poise that comes from a sense of values that by many of us is to-day forgotten.  I am coming back as soon as I can, for I, too, want the refreshment and novelty of being where money is not talked and apologies never made for the absence of things that money gets.  Miss Susanna Mason is a liberal education in herself and no “Course in Culture” could equal the advantage of being in her society.  I have written her, of course, but tell her again of my sense of privilege, and my great pleasure, in being a guest in her home, and remember always you are in your father’s heart.  Always he is thinking of you.

Now wasn’t that a nice letter to get from a father?  I’m nothing to be thankful for; but, if he thinks I am, I am thankful for that, and it makes life a different thing to know somebody is thankful for you.  And another thing I think would make life nicer, make working and living not so hard, is to tell people you like them and you believe they are trying to do their best, even if their best is powerful poor.  Of course, all people don’t try to do their best.  Some are by nature and practice mean and horrid and ought to have facts handed out to them, but most people try to do right, and maybe they would try harder if they got a little encouragement now and then.  Anyhow, I’ve often noticed it makes a person take fresh hold again for somebody to give them a lift in the way of a friendly word or so, and it doesn’t cost much—­kindness doesn’t.  I wonder why we don’t have more of it.

The reason why Father liked Twickenham Town so much was that nobody talked business to him, and if anybody knew he was the head of Bird & Roller, bankers and brokers, they never mentioned it to him or talked shop at all, and for four days he forgot stocks and bonds and the ups and downs of the money-market and let go.  And yet I am almost sure Mr. Willie Prince knows all about him—­the business part, I mean—­and that, of course, will mean everybody in Twickenham will know pretty soon.  The reason I think he knows is that I went into the bank to get a check cashed the morning after Father got here, and I saw Mr. Willie sitting at a table in a corner of the bank with a copy of Bradstreet open before him and his eyes close to it.  I made it