It's the silliest thing I ever heard of, not to know your name. Mrs.
Lippett warned me that you were eccentric. I should think so!
Affectionately,
Judy
PS. On reading this over, I find that it isn't all Stevenson. There
are one or two glancing references to Master Jervie.
10th September
Dear Daddy,
He has gone, and we are missing him! When you get accustomed to people
or places or ways of living, and then have them snatched away, it does
leave an awfully empty, gnawing sort of sensation. I'm finding Mrs.
Semple's conversation pretty unseasoned food.
College opens in two weeks and I shall be glad to begin work again. I
have worked quite a lot this summer though--six short stories and seven
poems. Those I sent to the magazines all came back with the most
courteous promptitude. But I don't mind. It's good practice. Master
Jervie read them--he brought in the post, so I couldn't help his
knowing--and he said they were DREADFUL. They showed that I didn't
have the slightest idea of what I was talking about. (Master Jervie
doesn't let politeness interfere with truth.) But the last one I
did--just a little sketch laid in college--he said wasn't bad; and he
had it typewritten, and I sent it to a magazine. They've had it two
weeks; maybe they're thinking it over.
You should see the sky! There's the queerest orange-coloured light
over everything. We're going to have a storm.
It commenced just that moment with tremendously big drops and all the
shutters banging. I had to run to close the windows, while Carrie flew
to the attic with an armful of milk pans to put under the places where
the roof leaks and then, just as I was resuming my pen, I remembered
that I'd left a cushion and rug and hat and Matthew Arnold's poems
under a tree in the orchard, so I dashed out to get them, all quite
soaked. The red cover of the poems had run into the inside; Dover
Beach in the future will be washed by pink waves.
A storm is awfully disturbing in the country. You are always having to
think of so many things that are out of doors and getting spoiled.
Thursday Daddy! Daddy! What do you think? The postman has just come with two
letters.
1st. My story is accepted. $50.
ALORS! I'm an AUTHOR.
2nd. A letter from the college secretary. I'm to have a scholarship
for two years that will cover board and tuition. It was founded for
'marked proficiency in English with general excellency in other lines.'
And I've won it! I applied for it before I left, but I didn't have an
idea I'd get it, on account of my Freshman bad work in maths and Latin.
But it seems I've made it up. I am awfully glad, Daddy, because now I
won't be such a burden to you. The monthly allowance will be all I'll
need, and maybe I can earn that with writing or tutoring or something.