Part 7

Im over here, and your "over there" And I no not the shade of your eyes or your hare. But this much I relize, from the land of the Free! You are imbibed with mystery!

I think that sums up the situation. I have supported you one yere and you dont no me, and I dont no you, and mebbe you will never mete me and mebbe I will never mete you, and while I am tryin to think how I can get over there along comes that feler Teddy and gets his eye on you and sez, Guess Ill have her for my godchild, and Bully fer you your a peach! and you fall fer it of corse, and I have to take a back seat. I guess that is life, but I tell you it is pretty tuf sometimes and a feler who is twelve yeres old has more trubbles than you think. But I guess if you want to be his godchild I wont stand between you. Mebbe you wood like a list of how I have suported you? Here is some of it, mindin chickins, selling Mirrors, choppin wood, frezin ice-cream fer Crankit & sons, pickin cheries, money from Carl Odell fer keepin quiet, polishin door handels, a mud turtle to Sid Perkins, a jar of pollywogs to Sid Perkins, he wants to build an aquarium, and I washt the winders of missis Perkins big, white house one weak when I was hard up, but I dont think I shall ever be hard up again as mister Parker has ofered to take me on the Mirror staff whenever I like, as he sez I talk like a book agent. I wish I cood leve school and go into bizness or to war or something. I dont seem to get much out of school somehow. Miss Davis sez to mother, Mebbe your son has deefective eyes but she sez to me, You are a blockhed. I guess miss Davis is off the trolly or something, Dad sez she has Fritz blood because she is distently related to the Dinkelheims. I was sory to hear you had swallerd all that gum, but was glad to see you got away with it, that feler was the limit to give it to you, it is not a thing to give to a godchild. Fust thing you no when he is your godfather he will feed you a shoestring or something, and you will be two polite to say no and you will dye. I hate to think of you ending that way it dont seem rite somehow. Say what does he want to buckle his hare and line it up one side fer? He must think his hed is a race track. Gee whiz I hate to think of the Yanks comin runnin over there with felers like that among them. I have been in swimmin with Dinky Odell in old Frost Lake to-day and he stumpt me to swaller a skipper and sed I bet a quarter you will not, so I swallerd one and it didn't test ennything at all, only it kind of crawled up and down my throte fer awhile and o Boy! didnt he tickel though! The next time I swaller a skipper I shall chew him fust, if you dont they walk inside of you as if they was saying "where do we go from hear?" Say you were pretty smart about catching on about my jokin about Mr. le Cure. Corse I dont no him as well as you do, caus you no and I no he has lived on the other side more than hear, but I guess if we was to pass on the street, we wood no each other well enuf to say, Hello, old top, how are you to-day? Say, I have got your Christmas present all pickt out, do you no what I wish you wood give me fer mine? See if you can guess.

Your affeckshunate godfather as ever, James P. Jackson Jr.

18 rue d'Autancourt, Paris. September 21, 1917.

My dear godfather:

I thank you for your long letter, and I give it to Monsieur Teddy so he read and see how much you are genteel. He regard the letter and regard me and his figure become very droll, like he want laugh or cry very much and he dare not and must retain himself, and he demand if he can keep the letter in his pocket for tomorrow, because he desire to envoy you a response with mine. He is very amiable and charming, think you not? He come to my house all the days now and always he bring something. Sunday he bring a paté like we eat on days of féte before the war; and he remain for aid us eat it. And yesterday he bring a great ribbon all white for tie on my hairs. He say in Amerique all the little girls carry on the summit of the head a ribbon big like a hat. He want not I keep for the Sundays but he tie me up and then he say I am pretty--jolly he say, and he demand I show him to speak the French. So he commence to read my book of when I was little, the "Lectures Enfantines" and I make him say the little poetry that is on the page 3 and it say: "Cher petit oreiller," and then my great sister enter and she have on her bodice of Sundays and very much the powder of rice on the nose. And she say: "Go in the bed-chamber and amuse yourself, and I talk with this Monsieur Americain." And I want not to go, and I cry, but she say if I obey not she will tell Monsieur Teddy come back never again. She is a villain, my great sister. I will defend that she aid me to write my letters to you; I have not business of her. I have as much as her knowledge of the English, and the American also. And Monsieur Teddy love me, nothing but me. When he get up to go away he call: "Where is that child of the gods?" (He make that game of words because I have perhaps two godfathers) And I come, and he console me. Thursday last it was my birthday. Monsieur Teddy devined it because he ask me how much age I have and I say I will have twelve years the 18, and he say in Amerique it is always a great feast and I must to eat a cake very big with snow and ice on it and candles, and so he bring it. I was washing the vessels, and he come in the kitchen and make many foolishness. He whip me (to make laugh) twelve times with a little stick so I grow very big all the year. And then he make me hide my eyes in my apron, and when I open them, I see the cake, big and white like--oh like I know not what--and the twelve candles pink were illuminated and there was my name with the two es writ in chocolate on the snow. And Monsieur Teddy bring also the cold cream; it is rose like the candles and perfumed with vanilla and strawberries. Oh dear godfather, I wanted you be here and have some! Only one time before when I was little I did eat the cold cream and never when it is the war did we eat cake. And it is good like to be in Paradise!

But alas! Monsieur Teddy soon will go beat himself with the boches! It is terrible to think because he is so good and beautiful! I told you he have little wings white on him, because he go up in the air?

Goodbye, dear godfather, Your affeckshunate godchild, Andrée Leblanc.

Washing the vessels (laver la vaisselle) washing the dishes. Beat himself (se battre) to fight.

Greenville Falls, N.Y. October 6, 1917.

Deer godchild,

I am sending you this letter in anser to yours quick, becaus I think if you are not careful that Teddy will poison you with his eats. The gum was bad enuf and I was jokin when I sed what I did about the shoestring, but cross my heart and hope to dye, that feedin you cold cream is the wust I ever herd, and what makes me feel so bad is there is no one to warn you and he is stringin you on. Gee whiz, it makes me sick to think of it! I have not been able to eat fer two days, yesterday we had pancakes fer brekfast and I cood not eat enny and mother sed, I wonder what ales James? And dad sed, In the spring a yung mans fancy, and mother sed quick, It is not spring, Prendy, it is fall, and I think it is his stummick that is turned and dad sed, No it is his heart I have found his poitry, and mother sed, Well you may be rite but I shall give him a dose of caster oil, You no the oil of the caster, just like you had the oil of the codfish only this tests like sam scratch see? Well I had to swaller some and it was feerce and fer too cents I wood twist that teller Teddy's nose and stick my finger in his eye. Gee whiz, and he wares white wings dose he, and jumps up in the air. Some angel beleeve me, say mebbe he is a angel that has fallen from the sky? or a acrobat from Barnums? only I guess if he comes from Barnums he must be a freak al-rite. Ennyway until this yere ends you are my godchild and I am your godfather, and I forbid you to tuch enny more of that Teddys eats, understand? If you are hungry you just tell me, and I will send you the proper food; and it will not be gum, or cold-cream or candels ether, I can tell you. Why even Mr. le Cure wood no enuf not to give you enny of those things. That Teddy is not fit to have a godchild, and that is the hole story in a nutshell. I dunno just what I shall do if he rites to me. Mebbe I will anser and mebbe I wont. I guess I shall tell miss Betty about it. Have I ever tole you about her? She lives in the big house on the hill next to Sid Perkins and she has hare like, well like what you sed about Jean's, like gold and sunshine, and big blue eyes and the cutest little chin with a dimple rite in the middle, and when she smiles she makes me think of the ferry queens you read about in books. I guess miss Betty is the prettiest girl on earth al-rite. She was one of the folks what let me give there dorenobs a extra polish, and she nos all about you and now I have tole her about that Teddy, and she sez, I no just how you feel about him Jimmy. It is a grate comfort to have someone understand you if your family do not. And I askt her if she new enny poitry in french I cood send you by way of conversashun, and she sez, I remember just one, and here it is,

"Je vous aime, je vous adore, Que voulez vous done encore?"

I thot that was kind of short but she sed if I sent this to you you mite send that feler Teddy packin, but I guess you wont. I dont no when I have had so much bad luck as I have had lately. Fust their was the hoopincoff, then my blew legs, then I lost my firecrakers, and now I guess I am going to lose you al-rite. I fergot to tell you their is a new preecher hear called Herbit Hoover and he is a minister of the gospel of the Clean Plate, and all us school boys have been distributin little papers about it, the idee is, if you do not beleeve in it you eat meat and wheat and everythin, and if you beleeve a little you have meatless days and eat rye and no wheat, and if you get the religion rele hard you lick your plate clean and eat pretty near nothing at all. Ennyway nobody must eat sugar. Dad sez it is becaus sugar has turned to dimonds, so we have sirup insted and it is pretty good, the pancakes I was tellin you about was made with that. Mother sez the sugar situashun is going to be rele bad. I hope their is some left fer my birthday which is near Thanksgiving day. Say, you and I come near bein twins do you no that? Just too weaks more and we wood have been born together, only I wood have been your twin over here and you wood have been my twin over there. Say woodnt that have been funny though! Stranger things have happined though. It does seem sort of strange to think those too weaks have made me your godfather and you my godchild insted of us bein twins. I tole mother about it and she sed she thot it was better the way it is. I have saved up 47 cents fer your Christmas present I am not going to tell you what I wish you wood do fer mine. I am going to see if you can guess it.

Your ever affeckshunate godfather, James P. Jackson Jr.

18 rue d'Autancourt, Paris. September 24, 1917.

My dear godfather:

I am afraid this letter can't be in my own style and handwriting this time, for Mr. Teddy is here and I have asked him to help me with my English, in exchange of my helping him with his French. My mind is troubled and I think he can express my thought, so he has taken the pen in hand, and I, sitting on a little stool at his feet, and gazing up at him, try to make him understand what is in my mind.

But first of all Mr. Teddy wants to ask you to forgive him, if he seems to be "butting in" and spoiling the game between you and your godchild. Honor bright, he didn't mean to do it. It was fate. Just blind, mysterious, and merciless fate that decreed that things should happen as they did. Mr. Teddy may be a blessing in disguise, anyway he couldn't be helped, and he has no excuse to offer, except, perhaps, that he is alone in the world and homesick in a foreign land. He is sorry you and he can't fight a duel over the situation, but I am very glad. And Mr. Teddy wants to tell you, very seriously that he takes off his hat to any little fellow of your size who can do the plucky thing you have done, and keep it up so well. If grown up men all had more of your spirit, he says, the war would be over long ago.

The object of this letter is as follows: I (your godchild) wish to make amends. I wrote you yesterday, and didn't answer your letter. Not a word did I say about it, except that I had received it, then I prattled away all about another would-be godfather for whom you, naturally, have no earthly use. And to-day my heart is filled with remorse and my head is filled with fears lest you should think your dear godchild is ungrateful, fickle, and flighty. I want to tell you how every detail of your life--from knob-polishing and bug-swallowing to poetry-writing is dear and precious to me. How I wish I could do the same! How I live in eager expectation of your letters; how I gloat and ponder over them when they come; and how deep is the gloom into which I am plunged when they do not come! Mr. Teddy knows all that, because I have somehow expressed it, and if I had striven to hide my thought he would have guessed it, for he knows full well what goes on in the hearts of little maids and gallant lads.

Therefore have I asked him to voice my deepest feelings in a poem that will answer yours:

"IDEALIZATION"

By Andree Leblanc and Yankee Teddy.

"Though our eyes may never meet, To me you're more than bread or meat, You are the proud and noble knight That I pray for every night. You could stand up on burning decks, While others ran to save their necks, You would not fear the dreadful Hun, In Freedom's cause you'd fire a gun. A lad who never gets cold feet Was not destined to know defeat, But oh! thou child of many pray'rs Beware of Jealousy's deep snares!"

From your affectionate godchild, Andrée Leblanc.

Greenville Falls Oct. 10, 1917.

My dear Mr. Teddy,

Jimmy has just brought me your letter, in great excitement, and I am taking the liberty of answering it myself, as I don't think he could do himself justice under the present circumstances. Mr. Teddy, did you ever have a soft spot for a little girl, when you were about eleven or twelve? I had one for a little boy; he was older than I, about fourteen; his name was Robert, and he had freckles; I think he squinted, too, and he teased all the girls a great deal. I am sure he was a very horrid little boy, as I look back, but at that time I thought he was wonderful, and it almost broke my heart when he said he had no use for little yellow-haired girls and took a girl with two brown pigtails to a big children's party, instead of me.