He is very busy just now with something he must finish, and perhaps
he cannot be there. Tom is going, and Fred Raymond, and Billy
Peterkin--quite a turn-out from Shannondale.
'I can hardly wait to see you. Only think, it is almost two years
since I said good-bye; for we went to Europe just after Harold was
graduated, and your last Christmas holidays were over before we came
home.
'What a long letter I have written you, and have not told you a word
of my health, about which you inquired so particularly. Did Uncle
Arthur tell you anything? I wish he had not, for it worries me to
have people look, and act, and talk as if I were sick, when I am
not. If I had not a pain in my side, and a tickling cough, which
keeps me awake nights and makes me sweat until my hair is wet, I
should be perfectly strong; and but for the pain and the weariness,
I feel as well as I ever did; and I go out nearly every day, and I
don't want to die and leave my beautiful home, and father, and
mother, and you, and--everybody I love. I am too young to die. I
cannot die.
'Oh, Jerrie, I am glad you are coming home! You will do me good,
just as Harold does. He is so strong every way, and so kind I can't
begin to tell you what he has been to me since I came home in
March--more than a friend--more than a brother.
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