May 8, 1910

My dearest Henry,

I must say you made quite an impression on everyone here during your visit! I can't tell you how many times a day your name is on someone's lips. Either mother is praising the peonies you brought her, or the twins are in raptures over the dear little pin cushions you were so kind as to give them. Every day they ask me, do you think Henry will come back soon for another stay? I say that I do not know, of course, but I hope that you will! Even father has talking about you. The other day he walked through the breakfast room as we were eating and very sternly said that he wished that all young men had heads as solid as "that young man Henry." He is very parismonious with his praise, especially of the young, so you should feel very honored indeed.

Even Opal has taken up the theme of your wonderfulness. She says she never knew a guest to leave their room as neat and clean as you did. She claims that you never slept in your bed, it was made up so neatly, without so much as a crease in the sheets, but I told her of course you did. For one thing, I passed by your room last night and heard you snoring. It was just a soft little gentle snore, nothing like father's awful rumblings, so you need not be ashamed. It seems your snoring is as exemplary as everything else you do!

I will tell you a little secret that I hope will not distress you too much: after you left, I was possessed by such a fit of weeping that I thought I never would be able to stop. Finally Mother brought me a cup of chamomile tea and told me that I positively must get control of myself, for the twins were beginning to weep as well, and she said if there is anything my father cannot stand it is a houseful of weeping women. So I promised to stop and so far have kept my word! But the only thing that keeps the tears from falling is the hope that you will come back to us soon.

Last Sunday we all went up to the creek for a swim. It was a bit early for such an outing, for the waters were still icy, but I got in up to my chest and did not feel the worse for it. Mother was the only one of us that did not wear a bathing suit. She says her legs have got so many veins that she is ashamed for anyone to see them, but in the end we persuaded her to take off her shoes and wade a little. The twins behaved so poorly, screaming and splashing about, that Mother had to scold them. She said what would Henry think if he saw how you all were carrying on, more like two Gypsies than ladies!

While we were eating the lunch Opal made for us a group of young men got in the creek a little distance away to swim. I had taken off my glasses because the tea causes them to fog, and do you know for an instant I thought one of them was you? He was your height, or almost, and had the same wavy brown hair with a cowlick. But when I put on my glasses to look more closely I knew he was not you. I said to Mother, Henry would never have such a red neck and shoulders as that young man does, his would be white and smooth. That young man must work in the sun all day. Very likely a farmer or laborer. They called out something ugly to the twins when Mother and I were packing up our things to leave. Mother didn't hear but I did, and I didn't tell her, knowing how it would upset her.

I think my story only goes to show you how much I think about you every day! Write to me soon, a good long letter telling me everything you are doing and thinking. Everything you do is of interest to me, so do not spare me any of the details, just as I have spared you nothing in this letter. I am afraid I cannot hold anything back--least of all how very very much I do love you, my dear, dear Henry.

With deep affection,

Caroline