Lock Willow Farm,
I’ve only just come and I’m not unpacked, but I can’t wait to tell you how much I like farms. This is a heavenly, heavenly spot! The house is square like this:
And old. A hundred years or so. It has a veranda on the side which I can’t draw and a sweet porch in front. The picture really doesn’t do it justice―those things that look like feather dusters are maple trees, and the prickly ones that border the drive are murmuring pines and hemlocks. It stands on the top of a hill and looks way off over miles of green meadows to another lines of hills.
That is the way Connecticut goes, in a series of marcel waves; and Lock Willow Farm is just on the crest of one wave. The barns used to be across the road where they obstructed the view, but a kind flash of lightning came from heaven and burnt them down.
The people are Mr. And Mrs. Semple and a hired girl and two hired men. The hired people ear in the kitchen, and the Semples and Judy in the dining room. We had ham and eggs and biscuits and honey and jelly-cake and pie and pickles and cheese and tea for supper―and a great deal of conversation. I have never been so entertaining in my life; everything I say appears to be funny. I suppose it is because I’ve never been in the country before, and my questions are backed by an all-inclusive ignorance.
The room marked with a cross is not where the murder was committed, but the one that I occupy. It’s big and square and empty, with adorable old-fashioned furniture and windows that have to be propped up on sticks and green shades trimmed with gold that fall down if you touch them. And a big square mahogany table―I’m going to spend the summer with my elbows spread out on it, writing a novel.
Oh, daddy, I’m so excited! I can’t wait till daylight to explore. It’s 8:30 now, and I am about to blow out my candle and try to go to sleep. We rise at five. Did you ever know such fun? I can’t believe this is really Judy. You and the Good Lord give me more than I deserve. I must be a very, very, very good person to pay. I’m going to be. You’ll see.
PS. You should hear the frogs sing and the little pigs squeal―and you should see the new moon! I saw it over my right shoulder.