Of course, there's Father left, and of course, when I go back to Andersonville this summer, there may be something doing there. But I doubt it. I forgot to say I haven't heard from Father again. I answered his Christmas letter, as I said, and wrote just as nice as I knew how, and told him all he asked me to. But he never answered, nor wrote again. I am disappointed, I'll own up. I thought he would write. I think Mother did, too. She's asked me ever so many times if I hadn't heard from him again. And she always looks so sort of funny when I say no--sort of glad and sorry together, all in one. But, then, Mother's queer in lots of ways now. For instance: One week ago she gave me a perfectly lovely box of chocolates--a whole two-pound box all at once; and I've never had more than a half-pound at once before. But just as I was thinking how for once I was going to have a real feast, and all I wanted to eat--what do you think she told me? She said I could have three pieces, and only three pieces a day; and not one little tiny one more. And when I asked her why she gave me such a big box for, then, if that was all I could have, she said it was to teach me self-discipline. That self-discipline was one of the most wonderful things in the world. That if she'd only been taught it when she was a girl, her life would have been very, very different. And so she was giving me a great big box of chocolates for my very own, just so as to teach me to deny myself and take only three pieces every day. Three pieces!--and all that whole big box of them just making my mouth water all the while; and all just to teach me that horrid old self-discipline! Why, you'd think it was Aunt Jane doing it instead of Mother! * * * * * _One week later._ It's come--Father's letter. It came last night. Oh, it was short, and it didn't say anything about what _I_ wrote. But I was proud of it, just the same. I just guess I was! There wasn't much in it but just that I might stay till the school closed in June, and then come. But _he wrote it_. He didn't get Aunt Jane to write to Mother, as he did before. And then, besides, he must have forgotten his stars long enough to think of me a _little_--for he remembered about the school, and that I couldn't go there in Andersonville, and so he said I had better stay here till it finished. And I was so glad to stay! It made me very happy--that letter. It made Mother happy, too. She liked it, and she thought it was very, very kind of Father to be willing to give me up almost three whole months of his six, so I could go to school here. And she said so. She said once to Aunt Hattie that she was almost tempted to write and thank him. But Aunt Hattie said, "Pooh," and it was no more than he ought to do, and that _she_ wouldn't be seen writing to a man who so carefully avoided writing to _her_. So Mother didn't do it, I guess.