Sunday Morning.
May 28, 1916.My dearest John,
I haven't sat down to write letters before church on Sunday morning for several weeks, but it is rather stormy this morning, and so we aren't taking our usual after-breakfast walk.
The fussing over Commencement invitations is going on gaily. I spent all my spare time yesterday on them, and it looks as if most of this afternoon would be spent thus.
Yesterday afternoon I went to Holyoke with Doris. She had quite a lot of shopping to do, and we spent over two hours traveling around and waiting to be waited on. It was so hot and crowded in the stores and on the streets yesterday afternoon, and so many people looked tired and unhappy, that I was glad, as I always am, to get back here in the country again. I just can't help being thankful all the time that we don't have to live in the city.
Last evening I went to Debating Society, the last meeting of the year. There was quite an interesting debate, by four members of the debating class, on the subject of the new plan of comprehensive examinations as a substitute for certificates for college entrance.
After the debate we elected officers for next year, and it was such a long and tedious process that we didn't get home until after half past nine. I worked right up until ten o'clock on the Commencement things, and then had just tumbled into bed when the fire alarm rang. Just another fire drill, but it has to be obeyed as strictly as if it were for the real thing.
Everything quieted down finally, but all the time until I went to sleep I was wishing for your strong arms to rest in.
Only two more classes to-morrow.
We are having more sings now in preparation for Commencement, especially for the Senior Serenade, which comes a week from Saturday night.
Inez has gained a lot this week, and yesterday the doctor told her that possibly she would be able to go home next Saturday.
Lou and I are planning to go over to Deerfield next Wednesday, to see the Taplins. Mrs. Taplin wrote Lou a nice letter some time ago, inviting us to come any time we could.
It is time to get ready for church now, so I must close.
your own Alethe.
(This isn't the end, after all.)
P. S.
Sunday Afternoon.There was another event of last night that I didn't mention because I didn't think it was especially important, but I learned at dinner that it was extremely significant. I woke up - probably between three and four - hearing men's voices down below the house. At first I couldn't distinguish any words, then I heard "This way, Barstow," the sound of running feet, and then all was still. Mr. Barstow is one of the men who has charge of the grounds and buildings. My first thought was, of course, fire, but it was so still afterwards that I concluded nothing was the matter, and that the voices must have come from the power house, which is open all night, of course. Winifred Hyslop was staying with me, but she didn't seem to be awake, so I went to sleep again right away. This morning Winifred said she hadn't heard any disturbance in the night, and nothing was said about it at breakfast.
But this noon I heard that one of our neighbors, Mr. Alvord, committed suicide, by drowning himself in the lower lake at three o'clock this morning. He lives just across the street from the college, and until recently has kept a sort of a general store which was well patronized by the college girls. A few weeks ago he closed up his store, as he was suffering very ill health, and he has been worse since then.
After church I had to go around to all the halls to see different girls on business, and after dinner I worked until three o'clock, then Ruth Carpenter, Hazel Seaman and I went down to call on Mrs. Pell. We stayed quite a while there, and had a nice time. On the way home I stopped at the Infirmary to see Inez. I had been there only a few minutes when we were delightfully surprised to have Madeline come walking in. She came up with her family in their machine, as they had to take her brother to Amherst, and then they stopped here on their way home. She stayed only a few minutes, but it was awfully good to see her even for that short time. she is coming up for Senior Mountain day, and to stay over Commencement. Next Friday is her twenty-first birthday, and her engagement is to be announced then. She says that Ernest still says they are to be married a year from next Christmas, but she doesn't know whether they will or not. She told us all about her cousin Hazel, whom we knew quite well, as she has been up here a number of times, and was at home when we visited Madeline Sophomore year. She was married a year ago last fall, and now she has a young son about six weeks old. Madeline has been helping take care of him quite a lot, and she thinks he is pretty nice.
Well, it is evening now, and this is the fourth installment of this letter. For a day of rest this has been about as busy as my busiest week days. About every five minutes some one comes in with some want or other, and my room is all in confusion, with everything piled high with programs, invitations, etc. I am sending you a Commencement invitation just as they came, and I wonder how long it will take you to find the "irremediable mistake" which I mentioned in my last letter. It isn't so bad, though, for it can be partly cured by the use of a sharp pen knife - there, I guess I've given you a hint as to what it is. It's sort of fun to get them ready to send off, makes me think of what the next lot of similar missives will probably be - doubtless you know to what I refer.
Well, by using the installment plan, I have stretched this letter out to a considerable length, haven't I? I must write home now, so I'll have to stop scribbling to you. I just wish you were here so I could talk to you instead.
Good night, dearest one, I'll be wanting you again to-night.
your own Alethe.