Chapter V: Letters

From Caroline Tucker to her father, Jeffry Tucker.

Gresham, Sept. 18, 19--.

Dearest Zebedee:

You would have to be your own daughter to know how
much you can be missed. After you left the other
day, Dum and I cried so much we came mighty near
getting sick, but Page Allison came back and was
so ridiculous in her description of Annie Pore
sitting up in the bus full of Seniors with her
crepe hat cocked on one side, that we got to
laughing; and you know how easy it is to be
cheerful if someone only starts the ball
a-rolling. Page is splendid and takes the most
interest in life of anybody I ever saw. She makes
a lot of fun, but somehow it is never at anyone
but always with them. She loves dogs, too, so I am
sure to get on with her.

I do think it was wise in you, dearest Zebedee, to
make us have a roommate, since that roommate
happens to be Page, because she certainly does do
us good; and already I find I am trying to "exert
more self-control," as you say when you are trying
to be Mr. Tuckerish. She hates blubbering and
never cries except when the dogs die or her father
reads poetry to her. I tell her that we don't
usually cry, either, that is, we don't bawl, but
just leak a bit. She says just leaking is rather
fascinating and shows temperament, and she wishes
she wasn't so dry-eyed and could express her
emotions in such a graceful way.

Page has read a whole lot and knows reams and
quires of history, but never has studied any
French at all and has to go with the kids in
mathematics. She is real spunky about it, though,
and doesn't say a word about how humiliating it
must be to have to sit in a class with children of
twelve and even younger.

She can write Latin like a house afire, but when
she translates we can hardly keep from giggling
outright, as she uses the funny old pronunciation
that Grandpa Tucker does. It seems she has learned
Latin entirely from her father. Miss Sears, the
Latin teacher, is trying to get her out of this
pronunciation, but she compliments her very much
on her knowledge of English derivatives. Page says
that is the side of Latin that interested her
father and he consequently taught it to her.

Dum and I have had only one serious set-to since
you left us. I licked her. I wish you would send
Dum a dollar box of plasticine. She is restless
sometimes and I know she is itching to create, and
if she had the mud she could do it. Dum is being
awfully good about holding on to herself, and is
just as nice and polite to Page as can be,
although she did vow and declare that she was
going to make it so hot for any roommate we got
that the poor thing would have to leave. Of course
that was before we knew it was going to be our
luck to draw such a prize. There's the bell, so
good-by, dear old Zebedeedlums.

Your own Tweedledeelums.

Virginia Tucker to her father, Jeffry Tucker.

Gresham, Sept. 19, 19--.

My darling Zebedee:

Dee wrote yesterday so I waited until to-day,
although she declared she was not writing the kind
of thing to you that I was going to. I don't see
how she knew what I was going to write when I
don't know myself.

There is one thing I want to say and that is: "the
old man always knows best." A roommate is a great
institution when she is as bully as Page Allison.
I was awfully afraid Dee was going to be rude, but
she hasn't been a bit. As for me, I have been a
little tin angel. You can ask Dee if I haven't.

I am mighty sorry for Dee. She not only misses you
just as much as I do, but she misses old Brindle
almost as much as she does you. I don't see why
they won't let a bulldog go to boarding school. I
asked Dee if she gave you any more directions
about how to take care of Brindle, and she said
she hadn't even mentioned him she was so afraid of
splashing on her letter.

Your friend Miss Cox has been in to see us and was
just as jolly as could be, but when the other
girls are around she treats us like perfect
strangers. The truth of the matter is she is
afraid of girls and does not understand them, nor
do they understand her. I got that from Page, who
is very analytical. Page says if she would let
herself go she would be the most popular teacher
in school, but as it is, while she is not
unpopular, she is not regarded at all. She is
awfully interesting but the girls don't know it.
They know she has a good voice and teaches with
good method but she might as well be a phonograph
for all the human interest they have in her. She
is coach for the backward and wayward in Math. I
believe Page Allison will have to have her, and I
bet on Page for drawing her out.

I tell you that girl has done wonders with Annie
Pore. Every time she finds her crying she makes
her laugh, and you know no one but old Zebedee can
laugh and cry at the same time without going into
hysterics. Right to her face she calls her
"Melancholy Dane" and "Old Rain in the Face" and
all kinds of ridiculous names, and Annie simply
has to smile. There is one thing about Page: you
can always know she is going to say what she's got
to say right to your face. Usually when people are
that way their conversation is "yea, yea, and nay,
nay," but Page is not that way a bit.

Dee and I have had only one bout and then Dee
knocked me out. It was a funny thing the way I let
down my guard, but I got to thinking about Dee's
dimple in her chin and how some day I was going
to make a stunning bust of her. You see Dee looks
mighty handsome when she boxes, with her head
thrown back, her neck like a column. I had sure
got her going that day and she had backed way up
in the corner, when the idea of making the bust
took possession of me--well, Dee made a stunning
bust of me, that's all. She tapped me on the nose
and drew the claret.

The row was all about you. Dee said you must be
pretty near middle-aged and I said she was all the
way a plumb idiot, you were no such thing and
never would be. The fact that she tapped me does
not prove that you are or ever will be any such
thing. Page came in at the crucial moment and was
somewhat shocked to see us boxing, and was broken
up over the gore; but when she heard what the row
was about, she sympathized with me and offered to
put on the gloves and fight it out with Dee; but
she decided in her amusing way to argue it out
instead.

She said: "If the pen is mightier than the sword,
surely the tongue is mightier than a pair of
boxing gloves." She proved to Dee's perfect
satisfaction that age was a matter of temperament
and that yours was eternal youth. Dee was
convinced and offered the _amende honorable_,
confessing herself beaten in argument. I begin to
think trial by combat not such a good way of
settling things, after all. It seems to me a quiet
debate is much the better way.

Write to us soon. I heard one of the Seniors say
you were the most attractive-looking man she ever
saw. She thought you were our big brother and
meant for me to hear it and of course wanted me to
repeat it to you. Good-by, my darling old
Zebedeedidlums. I am sorry I made you cry twice on
the day you brought us up here.

Your own,
Dumplingdeedledums.

Annie Pore to her Father, Mr. Arthur Pore, Price's Landing, Va.

Gresham, Sept. 19, 19--.

My dear Father:

I am writing to you at my earliest opportunity. I
made the journey without any mishaps and in great
comfort. I was astonished to find how luxurious
traveling by rail is. I shall have to confess to
you that I talked to some persons I met on the
train. They were all of them going to Gresham and
were very kind to me. I found myself conversing
with them before I remembered your admonitions to
be very careful about making acquaintances. I know
in England it is very bad form, but I felt somehow
it would have been much worse form to hold myself
aloof when they were one and all so kind to me.

The Institute of Gresham is admirable in every
particular. My instruction has been so thorough,
thanks to your unceasing efforts, that I find I
can take a very good stand. I have not divulged
that an Oxford graduate has been my teacher. I am
well up in Algebra, Latin and French, although my
French accent is not all that it should be.

Miss Cox, the singing teacher, takes a great
interest in my voice but evidently has no personal
feeling for me. I am very grateful to you for the
sacrifices you have made to send me to boarding
school, and am endeavoring to take advantage of
every opportunity to perfect my education.

Very respectfully,
Annie de Vere Pore.

Page Allison to her father, Dr. James Allison, Milton, Va.

Gresham, Sept. 19, 19--.

My dear old Father:

I can hardly believe it is only a few days since
I left Bracken. It seems ages and eons. I have a
million things to tell you. I made friends with
some delightful people on the train, Mr. Jeffry
Tucker and his twin daughters, Dum and Dee. Mr.
Tucker says he knows you; and my eyes were so like
yours he came mighty near giving me the fraternity
grip. He is the youngest man to be grown up and
have almost grown-up daughters I ever saw. Their
mother is dead, too. So many mothers seem to be
dead.

We made friends with another girl on the train,
Annie Pore from Price's Landing. She had never
been on the train before, but although she seemed
terribly shy and was dressed in a most pathetic
get-up, still she had all the bearing and
carriage of a _grande dame_. She is a half-orphan,
too, and I have a kind of idea that her father is
not to say so intimate with his daughter as some
other fathers who shall be nameless. She has been
writing to her paternal parent for the last hour,
and she actually copied the letter and seemed to
be writing with as much care as though it had to
be handed in. You don't want me to write that way
to you, do you?

Gresham is splendid. It is a beautiful building,
red brick with great white columns, giving it the
look of a modern Parthenon. It is on top of a hill
overlooking the little town and has a beautiful
lawn with great chestnut trees and oaks. But best
of all is the view of the mountains. When it is
clear they seem quite close, almost as though we
could walk to them, and at other times they
disappear altogether.

The first day or two the girls seemed to think if
they did not do a lot of bawling and blubbering
some one might think they did not love their
homes. Some of them cried because they could not
help it, but some of them, I verily believe,
rubbed onions in their eyes like the heartless
sisters in "Beauty and the Beast." I know no home
could be more beautiful than Bracken and I'll
wager anything that there isn't a dad in the world
better or more beloved than mine. And was there
ever a mammy like mine? I'm not even mentioning
the dogs, although they are not the least of my
blessings. And still, not a visible tear have I
shed.

The first morning when I waked up in the strange
room and stared at the blank bare wall, it seemed
to me as though I simply could not stand it. I was
dreaming about Mammy Susan. I thought she was
pouring hot water into my tub again. My roommates
were still asleep, having wept themselves into a
state of coma. (I haven't told you that I am
rooming with Dum and Dee Tucker and I like it a
lot.) Well, I got up and went to the bathroom and
had the coldest bath I ever had in my life and
then I dressed in a hurry. I felt as though I must
get out before any one saw me. If I could have a
little run, maybe I could stave off the great wave
of homesickness that was going to swallow me up in
a minute. I raced along the corridor.

I got onto a covered walk connecting the dormitory
with the main building, and there serene and
beautiful were the mountains stretched before me.
I didn't want to cry any more. A feeling of deep
peace and happiness came to me. I chanted aloud:
"I will look unto the hills from whence cometh my
help," etc. You mustn't think I don't love you and
Mammy Susan just as much as ever, for I do; but I
am having a good time and am going to learn a few
things, and am going to make loads and loads of
friends.

My love to all the dear dogs and please give them
an extra bone for me. And tell dear Mammy Susan
that all of us on the train would have starved to
death if she hadn't put up all that good lunch.
I'll tell you about what I am studying in my next
letter. Good-by,

Your own Page.