NEW YORK, February 3, 1893.
[DEAREST MOTHER:]
This is a little present for you and a goodby. Your
packing-case is what I need and what I shall want, and I love
it because you made it. But as you say, we understand and
do not have to write love letters; you have given me all that
is worth while in me, and I love you so that I look forward
already over miles and miles and days and months, and just see
us sitting together at Marion and telling each other how good
it is to be together again and holding each other's hands. I
don't believe you really know how happy I am in loving
you,
dear, and in having you say nice things about me. God bless
you, dearest, and may I never do anything to make you feel
less proud of your wicked son.
DICK.
