LOCK WILLOW FARM,
3rd August
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

It has been nearly two months since I wrote, which wasn't nice of me,
I know, but I haven't loved you much this summer--you see I'm
being frank!

You can't imagine how disappointed I was at having to give up
the McBrides' camp. Of course I know that you're my guardian,
and that I have to regard your wishes in all matters, but I couldn't
see any REASON. It was so distinctly the best thing that could
have happened to me. If I had been Daddy, and you had been Judy,
I should have said, `Bless yo my child, run along and have a
good time; see lots of new people and learn lots of new things;
live out of doors, and get strong and well and rested for a year
of hard work.'

But not at all! Just a curt line from your secretary ordering me
to Lock Willow.

It's the impersonality of your commands that hurts my feelings.
It seems as though, if you felt the tiniest little bit for me the
way I feel for you, you'd sometimes send me a message that you'd
written with your own hand, instead of those beastly typewritten
secretary's notes. If there were the slightest hint that you cared,
I'd do anything on earth to please you.

I know that I was to write nice, long, detailed letters without ever