Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster
11th April
Dearest Daddy,
Will you please forgive me for the letter I wrote you yesterday? AfterI posted it I was sorry, and tried to get it back, but that beastlymail clerk wouldn't give it back to me.
It's the middle of the night now; I've been awake for hours thinkingwhat a Worm I am--what a Thousand-legged Worm--and that's the worst Ican say! I've closed the door very softly into the study so as not towake Julia and Sallie, and am sitting up in bed writing to you on papertorn out of my history note-book.
I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry I was so impolite about yourcheque. I know you meant it kindly, and I think you're an old dear totake so much trouble for such a silly thing as a hat. I ought to havereturned it very much more graciously.
But in any case, I had to return it. It's different with me than withother girls. They can take things naturally from people. They havefathers and brothers and aunts and uncles; but I can't be on any suchrelations with any one. I like to pretend that you belong to me, justto play with the idea, but of course I know you don't. I'm alone,really--with my back to the wall fighting the world--and I get sort ofgaspy when I think about it. I put it out of my mind, and keep onpretending; but don't you see, Daddy? I can't accept any more moneythan I have to, because some day I shall be wanting to pay it back, andeven as great an author as I intend to be won't be able to face aPERFECTLY TREMENDOUS debt.
I'd love pretty hats and things, but I mustn't mortgage the future topay for them.
You'll forgive me, won't you, for being so rude? I have an awful habitof writing impulsively when I first think things, and then posting theletter beyond recall. But if I sometimes seem thoughtless andungrateful, I never mean it. In my heart I thank you always for thelife and freedom and independence that you have given me. My childhoodwas just a long, sullen stretch of revolt, and now I am so happy everymoment of the day that I can't believe it's true. I feel like amade-up heroine in a story-book.
It's a quarter past two. I'm going to tiptoe out to post this off now.You'll receive it in the next mail after the other; so you won't have avery long time to think bad of me.
Good night, Daddy, I love you always, Judy
Dearest Daddy,
Will you please forgive me for the letter I wrote you yesterday? AfterI posted it I was sorry, and tried to get it back, but that beastlymail clerk wouldn't give it back to me.
It's the middle of the night now; I've been awake for hours thinkingwhat a Worm I am--what a Thousand-legged Worm--and that's the worst Ican say! I've closed the door very softly into the study so as not towake Julia and Sallie, and am sitting up in bed writing to you on papertorn out of my history note-book.
I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry I was so impolite about yourcheque. I know you meant it kindly, and I think you're an old dear totake so much trouble for such a silly thing as a hat. I ought to havereturned it very much more graciously.
But in any case, I had to return it. It's different with me than withother girls. They can take things naturally from people. They havefathers and brothers and aunts and uncles; but I can't be on any suchrelations with any one. I like to pretend that you belong to me, justto play with the idea, but of course I know you don't. I'm alone,really--with my back to the wall fighting the world--and I get sort ofgaspy when I think about it. I put it out of my mind, and keep onpretending; but don't you see, Daddy? I can't accept any more moneythan I have to, because some day I shall be wanting to pay it back, andeven as great an author as I intend to be won't be able to face aPERFECTLY TREMENDOUS debt.
I'd love pretty hats and things, but I mustn't mortgage the future topay for them.
You'll forgive me, won't you, for being so rude? I have an awful habitof writing impulsively when I first think things, and then posting theletter beyond recall. But if I sometimes seem thoughtless andungrateful, I never mean it. In my heart I thank you always for thelife and freedom and independence that you have given me. My childhoodwas just a long, sullen stretch of revolt, and now I am so happy everymoment of the day that I can't believe it's true. I feel like amade-up heroine in a story-book.
It's a quarter past two. I'm going to tiptoe out to post this off now.You'll receive it in the next mail after the other; so you won't have avery long time to think bad of me.
Good night, Daddy, I love you always, Judy