I am
beginning to feel pretty fit, and I've put on four or five pounds.
Still, I'm getting sick of fresh eggs and fresh milk and their
everlasting bacon,--they call it side-meat,--and preserves. She
simply stuffs me with them. The air is wonderful, even during that
awful hot spell I wrote you about. I am sure that another month or
two out here,--perhaps three,--will put me back on my pins stronger
than ever, and then I'll be in condition to go back to work. I am
eager to get at it as soon as possible in order to pay back all
you have put up for me during this beastly year. If I did not know
you can well afford to do what you have been doing for me, mother
dear, I wouldn't allow you to spend another penny on me. But you
will get it all back some day, not in cash, of course,--for that
means nothing to you,--but in the joy of knowing that it was worth
while to bring your only son into the world. Now, as to this change
I am going to make. I've been across the river several times and I
like it over there much better than here. I think the air is better
and certainly the surroundings are pleasanter. Windomville is a
funny little village of five or six hundred people, about the same
number of dogs (exaggeration!), and the sleepiest place you've
ever imagined. Old Caleb Brown says it was laid out back in 1830
or thereabouts by the first Windom to come to these parts.
Pages:
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68