Oh, Nell, it's such a joke and the cream of it is that I know you'll not believe my single statement! I grinned idiotically all through breakfast the morning your letter came and wanted to answer straightway but was too tired when nine o'clock came that evening. I've thought of you and your letter and the letter I wanted to write every day since. In fact the first line of this was written several days ago in a moment of leisure that proved solitary. Even now I am writing in the rear of my recitation room while a Greek class are writing a "test", forgetful of the prose exercises that are always with me and to-morrow's work as yet unprepared. I fear you would never do as much for me! But you know with me writing letters is somewhat like talking, sometimes it will come.Now for my joke which you will brand one of my prevarications and yet it is the plain unadorned truth that I do occasionally deal with. You think I omitted my customary birthday greeting with a vindictive desire to squelch you for for [sic] your undesirable neglect of me. Of course you do. I can see now how natural the thought was and can even visualize you as you exclaimed "How exactly like her! She was bound to get even." But for once my mind was guileless. What I really thought and now you'll exclaim "Bosh and nonsense! She's only talking for effect and back of it all is a covert fling." And that is why I grinned over your letter; it is somewhat incredible I know, but truth is proverbially strange. What I really thought was "I am somewhat busy and if I write a little greeting on the card, she'll not miss or care for a birthday letter".
Did I say I grinned over your letter? Well, I did and that was one reason why I've been eager to write. But when I read your account of your happy birthday party and your incidental allusions to our happy Holyoke days, my eyes grew mist-covered and an inexpressible yearning filled my heart and I wanted once more to be living comfortably with you, "you in your corner and I in mine", as the children's hymn says. And when Heimweh [German for homesick] of that sort seizes me, it seldom goes until I have vented it more or less in a letter.
I am glad the birthday was pleasant and glad your year is starting auspiciously. Don't get too enamored with that new room-mate or I shall grow to be more green-eyed than ever thro' the pangs of jealousy. I knew something about your new surroundings also your address thro' the '96 Robin which reached me some weeks ago.
That class infant question is a regular Gordian knot. What did Anna March ever care about the class? But if it justly belongs to her - and yet what a pity to put so much money on her child! So it goes round and round a circle. Nan wrote for my advice. I haven't answered yet and the longer I wait the more muddled I grow. I never heard class cup mentioned while we were still at College.
So Nell Smith is with Harriet Phipps in Newcastle. That's nice because if I remember rightly, they were on pretty good terms.
I am finishing this at home in the evening.
I was in Buffalo over Sunday - leaving J- Friday night. We went to an international Convention of the Brotherhood of St. Andrew, - Miss Willard & I. It was worth going the whole distance merely to hear those thirteen hundred men sing their Brotherhood hymn and the responses to the prayers. They were all manly, earnest, reverent fellows. The talks were fine, scholarly efforts, no raving or cant, but straightforward Christianity. Bishops were as plentiful as blackberries, - English, Canadian & American. There were laymen too well worth hearing remembering notably Jack Riis of How the Other Half Lives fame. It was very uplifting & inspiring. Here I am at it and yet I know all of your girls think me a bigoted fanatic. I can't help it.
I am having a good year so far. Much pleasanter and smoother than last year. The "meets" with so many dear friends gave me as I knew they would new courage for the year, besides there's last year's experience and the enthusiasm of beginning anew, so take it all in all I have been very happy these
alllast six weeks.Do you know what is one of the happiest memories I have of the summer? Our Sunday morning together when the two weeks lay unspoiled before us and the days of separation and homesickness were past.
But if I'm not careful, the whole evening will go to you and then what'll become of to-morrow?
Very lovingly
Lucy FishMonday, October 18, 1897.