I am in great distress about poor Bernie. He fell yesterday and injured his right foot in some way, but the docter[2] does not yet know the extent of the injury. He suffered dreadfully during the night and is still in great pain[3] poor little fellow! Pray that it may end well.
I hope dear father that you are not still vexed with me. I assure you that it grieved me to think that I had caused you anxiety when you had so much to bear in other ways. I am afraid that you thought me obstinately dumb on Saturday, but I am sure that you would have had many more tears than words had I attempted to talk. Then again it is always the same tale over again. I have neither meekness or humility to enable me to bear the many unavoidable trials which come in my way, and he never takes my feelings or desires into consideration.
I really fear that my fits of passion will be the cause of my death one of these days and when he drives me wild with anger as he has done a few times, I am strongly tempted to seek consolation and sympathy from one[4] whom I know would be intensely indignant if he knew that I suffered from any unkindness. I tell you this[5] my father, because I think you ought to know what might prove a temptation under certain circumstances. I know, dear father, that you will pray for me, and when you speak severely I feel grateful because I know you do it for my good. Do not let me do as I please but make me do what I ought. I shall try to come regularly every week and I hope that I shall get into good habits again with your help and God’s grace. I have a very good friend in Mrs Smyth who tries to help me in the right way. Trusting that you will forgive, and pray for me
P.S. If you should be coming this way, Bernie would be delighted to see you, not to speak of anyone else. The docter[6] thinks that nothing is broken, but will see better to morrow.