February 8 (the night before exams)
Dear Daddy Longlegs,
You should see the way the girls in this college are studying!
We've forgotten we ever had a vacation.
I've put so much new information into my brain.
I hope that it stays there until exams are over!
Some girls sell their textbooks when they're done with classes.
But I intend to keep mine.
Then, after I graduate, I'll have my whole education in one bookcase.
If I need a fact, I'll be able to look it up.
So much easier—and more accurate—than trying to remember everything!
Julia Pendleton dropped in this evening.
I thought she'd never leave.
She started talking about family, and I couldn't get her to stop.
"What's your mother's maiden name?" Julia asked me.
"My mother's maiden name?" I said.
I don't even know my mother's name, never mind her name before she was married.
Did you ever hear of asking an orphan such a rude question?
Not that she knows I'm an orphan, of course.
I didn't dare tell her the truth, so I just said the first name that popped into my head.
"She was a Montgomery."
"A Montgomery," Julia repeated.
"Do you mean one of the Boston Montgomerys?
Or was she part of the southern Montgomery family—the ones from Virginia?
Those are the two most prominent branches of the Montgomery family."
I shrugged. "I don't know. She was just a Montgomery."
"Well, my mother is a Rutherford. Her family . . ."
And then she blathered on and on.
I swear her mother's family is so old, they came to the United States on Noah's ark!
And her father's family is connected to all the kings of England.
(Not really, but you know what I mean.
Her family's social status is very important to Julia.
And she cares too much about other people's families too.)
I meant to write you a nice, cheerful letter tonight, but I'm too sleepy—and scared about exams.
The freshman's life is not a happy one.
Your unhappy freshman,
Judy
February 15
Dear Daddy Longlegs,
I was so busy studying that I forgot to mail my letter.
So I'll just add to it here.
I have some perfectly dreadful news to tell you.
But I won't begin with that.
I'll try to put you in a good mood first.
I've started my career as an author!
I'm published!
My poem, "From My Tower," is in the February issue of the campus magazine.
I hope you're proud of me!
After all, you're sending me to college to become a writer.
My English professor congratulated me on the way out of chapel this morning.
"Your poem is on the first page," she said.
"That's a great honor for a freshman."
"Thank you, Professor. It's so exciting to see it in print."
"I thought it was a charming piece of writing," she went on.
"The meter in the sixth line is a little off . . . But aside from that, it's quite lovely."
I still like my poem even if the meter is off.
If you care to read it, I'll be glad to send you a copy.
Let's see if I can think of something else pleasant.
Oh, yes! I'm learning to skate and can glide about quite well by myself.
I hardly ever fall down anymore.
I'm doing really well in gym class too.
I've learned how to slide down a rope from the ceiling to the floor.
I can also leap over a bar that is three feet, six inches high.
I soon hope to clear four feet.
We had a very inspiring sermon this morning in chapel.
It was about overlooking the mistakes of others.
And we shouldn't discourage people by judging them harshly.
I really wish you could have heard it.
This is the sunniest winter afternoon.
The sun on the snow is almost blinding.
Icicles are dripping from the fir trees.
All the world is bending under the weight of the snow.
Except for me. I'm bending under the weight of sorrow.
And now for the horrible news.
Are you sure you're in a good mood?
Never mind. I'll try to be brave and just blurt it out.
I failed my Latin and geometry exams.
I'm being tutored in both subjects, and I'll retake both exams next month.
I'm sure to pass next time.
I'm sorry if you're disappointed.
But otherwise, I don't care a bit because I've learned so much on my own.
I've read 17 novels and hundreds of poems.
So you see, I'm actually quite smart!
Will you forgive me this once, if I promise never to fail again?
Regretfully yours,
Judy