We had a molasses candy pull last Friday evening，given by the house matron of Fergussen to the left-behinds in the other halls.There were twenty-two of us altogether，freshmen and sophomores and juniors and seniors all united in amicable accord.The kitchen is huge，with copper pots and kettles hanging in rows on the stone wall-the littlest casserole among them about the size of a washboiler.Four hundred girls live in Fergussen.The chef，in a white cap and apron，fetched out twenty-two other white caps and aprons-I can't imagine where he got so many-and we all turned ourselves into cooks.
It was great fun，though I have seen better candy.When it was finally finished，and ourselves and the kitchen and the doorknobs all thoroughly sticky，we organized a procession and still in our caps and aprons，each carrying a big fork or spoon or frying pan，we marched through the empty corridors to the officers'parlor where half a dozen professors and instructors were passing a tranquil evening.We serenaded them with college songs and offered refreshments.They accepted politely but dubiously.We left them sucking chunks of molasses candy，sticky and speechless.
So you see，Daddy，my education progresses！
Don't you really think that I ought to be an artist instead of an author？
Vacation will be over in two days and I shall be glad to see the girls again.My tower is just a trifle lonely；when nine people occupy a house that was built for four hundred，they do rattle around a bit.
Eleven pages-poor Daddy，you must be tired！I meant this to be just a short little thank-you note-but when I get started I seem to have a ready pen.
Good-bye，and thank you for thinking of me-I should be perfectly happy except for one little threatening cloud on the horizon.Examinations come in February.
Yours with love，
Judy
PS.Maybe it isn't proper to send love？If it isn't，please excuse.But I must love somebody and there's only you and Mrs.Lippett to choose between，so you see-you'll have to put up with it，Daddy dear，because I can't love her.