Do not think that I am unhappy or lonely; nor must you think that while you have been moving along in years, I have remained the same little girl whose doll house you disturbed. I was seventeen last month; and a girl of my age in the mountains is supposed to be grown. I am more—a business woman; the bread winner of the Litman family; and having outgrown “sang digging,” for nearly a year have had the Big Creek school. Last June I obtained my teacher’s certificate; and in doing so surrendered my great ambition, which was to be an actress. You can judge what a creature of fancy I am, when I tell you. I have never been inside a theatre. I dreamed of a stage career and—landed in a school room. The very first day of teaching I realized that it was the next best thing. I had a wonderful audience and a stage setting unique and clever. Teaching now seems a high-class of play acting—just lots, anyway—and children are such fun. I should like for you to see my school room and know the boys and girls. I would like for you to be associated with certain other experiences of mine. I’d like—but what’s the use? I feel as though, if or when I need you, you will be my friend. In other words, I trust you. The glorious fun of being poor is that the little things that come your way are greatly appreciated. Now Big Creek is my Brook Cherith; and the school children are the ravens during the stress of high prices incident to the war. They not only bring bread and meat but a few modest dresses and a few books and magazines. Should the brook fail and the ravens receive other commands, Granny and I can depend upon the unfailing jar of meal and the cruse of oil for our daily bread; and should you like to play the part of Elijah to the widow and the orphan, you are welcome to your share. We will give you a cup of water and make you a little cake. I have even had a beau and a proposal of marriage by a red-headed man from Red Bird. I answered: “I have no idea of considering such a proposition for several years as I expect first to graduate at the University of Kentucky. When my Prince Charming comes wooing, he may come with empty pockets but he must be able to read and write.” The next day Sandy came to my school, but I refused to take him in. He has since spread the information that “Jeannette does not want ‘a feller’ but expects to remain a ‘school marm’”—and so I shall until a real man comes along. Sandy Blair is as near the “sweet evening breeze” kind as we have up here. I call him my knight of the pink shirt and green store clothes. He never misses a dance; and Solomon in all his glory was never arrayed as he then is.