Aug. 16, 1935

My dear Daughter:-

I almost said dear little daughter, and then I thought she's now my big daughter. But your dad and your mother can only think of you as a sweet baby girl, learning to use your hands; learning to walk and kicking out a pair of shoes every week; learning to talk-to say "da da" which I said meant daddy; learning to read by picking out letters on the Kansas City Star headlines; learning to write, to add, subtract, divide and finally, to play the piano and be a great actress. So you see you will always be my dear little girl and I'll always think of you that way no matter how big or how great you may be.

Your dad has almost looked his eyes out for a letter and he just made up his mind that maybe if he'd write you and remind you that a letter is due from you that he might perhaps get one.

The Senate is nearly done with its work and I'll be home in a week or ten days and you and your mother and dad will probably go for a vacation somewhere in the United States. I'd like to have one more letter before I come home. Kiss mudder and grandmudder and tell Uncle Freddie and Aunt Christie hello, as well as Nat & Frank & May & Daw.

Lots of love from your Dad.