Eleanor Randolph Wilson McAdoo to Jessie Woodrow Wilson Sayre

I know I can, rightfully, be accused of awful cheek—but I can't help it. I'm going to start this with a wailing plea to you to write to me. I don't deserve it, I know, for I hardly ever wrote to you and you're horribly busy every minute, but oh, I want, want want a letter from you and so I'm just going to beg for it in spite of my own past sins. Even tho' I try with all my might and main I can't help getting down in the depths of blue-ness every now and then—I suppose I got a little upset by all the worry over Mac's operation—and so I've been longing more than I ever have in all my life before for you, my sweetest sister, and if not you since that's impossible, a little letter from you. I'm so jealous of Helen and the little notes she gets from you that I could weep.
What an idot I am to go on talking like this—when I'm not a bit blue now, and am not very often and when Mac is all well again and up on his feet getting his strength back fast—and I, myself, am just as well as can be. Mac has promised not to go back to the office until the twentieth and he's being very good—He has been so wonderful all through it and came through the whole ordeal splendidly—his muscles and all are like a man of thirty, the doctors say. But oh, I'm so glad to have it over with.
I'm getting along beautifully—my angel will be here in a month—isn't that glorious! (Oh goodness—this is the last sheet of paper I have left & I had started another letter on it. My dear Mrs Voorhies,—please forgive such messiness) I have only a minute because Mac and I are going for a drive and I'm just waiting for a man he's talking to, to go. I don't write bully, gossipy letters like Helen does—I wish I could. You're such a darling to be making me a little dress and to let me have the slip Margie was making (?) I don't know whether that's been found yet or not. Helen and I have just about finished five and are going to make two more, because Annie is making three for me. Ruthie and Ida McDonald are making the dresses.
Im so happy to know that my blessed nephew is getting along so swimmingly—Oh, how I wish we had him and you all here still. That was the sweetest picture in the Sunday Times—it made me more homesick than ever for you. I must run—hope you can read this scratch. Are you feeling perfectly strong again, darling. Tell me all about yourself and your Angel Babe—Mac sends dearest love to you all three—and I send a heart overflowing—April 14th 1915