PS. (4) This is a picture of Miss Jerusha Abbott, the future
great author, driving home the cows.



Sunday

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Isn't it funny? I started to write to you yesterday afternoon,
but as far as I got was the heading, `Dear Daddy-Long-Legs', and then
I remembered I'd promised to pick some blackberries for supper,
so I went off and left the sheet lying on the table, and when I
came back today, what do you think I found sitting in the middle
of the page? A real true Daddy-Long-Legs!

I picked him up very gently by one leg, and dropped him out
of the window. I wouldn't hurt one of them for the world.
They always remind me of you.

We hitched up the spring wagon this morning and drove to the Centre
to church. It's a sweet little white frame church with a spire
and three Doric columns in front (or maybe Ionic--I always get
them mixed).

A nice sleepy sermon with everybody drowsily waving palm-leaf fans,
and the only sound, aside from the minister, the buzzing of locusts
in the trees outside. I didn't wake up till I found myself on
my feet singing the hymn, and then I was awfully sorry I hadn't