Stevenson; my mind is very
much engaged with him at present. He comprises Lock Willow's library.

I've been writing this letter for two weeks, and I think it's about
long enough. Never say, Daddy, that I don't give details. I wish you
were here, too; we'd all have such a jolly time together. I like my
different friends to know each other. I wanted to ask Mr. Pendleton if
he knew you in New York--I should think he might; you must move in
about the same exalted social circles, and you are both interested in
reforms and things--but I couldn't, for I don't know your real name.

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 an