She laid out her paper, fitted a
fresh pen into the silver holder, and then looked at the calendar.
As she found the date her eyes grew very thoughtful.
"Six months to a day," she murmured. "How fast the time has gone."
Then she began her letter.
"Glenloch, March 17th.
"Darling father:
"I wonder if you remember that just six months ago to-day you and
I were celebrating your birthday together, and that I was heartbroken
when you told me what was going to happen to us. Nothing could
have made me believe then that I could be so happy now, or that
the time could possibly seem so short. I wonder if you would think
I've changed any. I'm an inch taller than I was when you saw me
last, and I weigh ten pounds more, so I've accomplished something
in six months. I don't believe you've grown an inch; at least not
an up and down inch.
"I just wish you could taste some of my cooking. If I went out as
cook now, I shouldn't have to feed the family on birthday cake,
for I can make perfectly scrumptious little baking-powder biscuit,
and my salad dressing is a joy forever. I can do other things, of
course, but these are my specialties. Oh, and I can make a maple
fudge that just melts in your mouth.
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