Friday. My dear, dear Judy:
Such an upheaval! I've discharged the cook and the housekeeper, and in
delicate language conveyed the impression to our grammar teacher that
she needn't come back next year. But, oh, if I could only discharge the
Honorable Cy!
I must tell you what happened this morning. Our trustee, who has had a
dangerous illness, is now dangerously well again, and dropped in to
pay a neighborly call. Punch was occupying a rug on my library floor,
virtuously engaged with building blocks. I am separating him from the
other kindergarten children, and trying the Montessori method of a
private rug and no nervous distraction. I was flattering myself that it
was working well; his vocabulary of late has become almost prudish.
After half an hour's desultory visit, the Hon. Cy rose to go. As the
door closed behind him (I am at least thankful the child waited for
that), Punch raised his appealing brown eyes to mine and murmured, with
a confiding smile:
"Gee! ain't he got de hell of a mug?"
If you know a kind Christian family where I can place out a sweet little
five-year boy, please communicate at once with
S. McBRIDE,
Sup't John Grier Home.
Dear Pendletons:
I've never known anything like you two snails. You've only just reached
Washington, and I have had my suitcase packed for days, ready to spend
a rejuvenating week end CHEZ VOUS. Please hurry! I've languished in this
asylum atmosphere as long as humanely possible. I shall gasp and die if
I don't get a change.
Yours,
on the point of suffocation,
S. McB.
P.S. Drop a card to Gordon Hallock, telling him you are there. He will
be charmed to put himself and the Capitol at your disposal. I know
that Jervis doesn't like him, but Jervis ought to get over his baseless
prejudices against politicians. Who knows? I may be entering politics
myself some day.
My dear Judy:
We do receive the most amazing presents from our friends and
benefactors. Listen to this. Last week Mr. Wilton J. Leverett (I quote
from his card) ran over a broken bottle outside our gate, and came in
to visit the institution while his chauffeur was mending the tire. Betsy
showed him about. He took an intelligent interest in everything he saw,
particularly our new camps. That is an exhibit which appeals to men.
He ended by removing his coat, and playing baseball with two tribes
of Indians. After an hour and a half he suddenly looked at his watch,
begged for a glass of water, and bowed himself off.
We had entirely forgotten the episode until this afternoon, when the
expressman drove up to the door with a present for the John Grier
Home from the chemical laboratories of Wilton J. Leverett. It was a
barrel--well, anyway, a good sized keg--full of liquid green soap!
Did I tell you that the seeds for our garden came from Washington?
A polite present from Gordon Hallock and the U. S. Government. As an
example of what the past regime did not accomplish, Martin Schladerwitz,
who has spent three years on this pseudo farm, knew no more than to dig
a grave two feet deep and bury his lettuce seeds!
Oh, you can't imagine the number of fields in which we need making over;
but of course you, of all people, can imagine. Little by little I am
getting my eyes wide open, and things that just looked funny to me at
first, now--oh dear! It's very disillusionizing. Every funny thing that
comes up seems to have a little tragedy wrapped inside it.
Just at present we are paying anxious attention to our manners--not
orphan asylum manners, but dancing school manners. There is to be
nothing Uriah Heepish about our attitude toward the world. The little
girls make curtseys when they shake hands, and the boys remove caps and
rise when a lady stands, and push in chairs at the table. (Tommy Woolsey
shot Sadie Kate into her soup yesterday, to the glee of all observers
except Sadie, who is an independent young damsel and doesn't care for
these useless masculine attentions.) At first the boys were inclined to
jeer, but after observing the politeness of their hero, Percy de Forest
Witherspoon, they have come up to the mark like little gentlemen.
Punch is paying a call this morning. For the last half-hour, while I
have been busily scratching away to you, he has been established in the
window seat, quietly and undestructively engaged with colored pencils.
Betsy, EN PASSANT, just dropped a kiss upon his nose.
"Aw, gwan!" said Punch, blushing quite pink, and wiping off the caress
with a fine show of masculine indifference. But I notice he has resumed
work upon his red-and-green landscape with heightened ardor and an
attempt at whistling. We'll succeed yet in conquering that young man's
temper.
Tuesday.
The doctor is in a very grumbly mood today. He called just as the
children were marching in to dinner, whereupon he marched, too, and
sampled their food, and, oh, my dear! the potatoes were scorched! And
such a clishmaclaver as that man made! It is the first time the potatoes
ever have been scorched, and you know that scorching sometimes happens
in the best of families. But you would think from Sandy's language that
the cook had scorched them on purpose, in accordance with my orders.
As I have told you before, I could do very nicely without Sandy.
Wednesday.
Yesterday being a wonderful sunny day, Betsy and I turned our backs upon
duty and motored to the very fancy home of some friends of hers, where
we had tea in an Italian garden. Punch and Sadie Kate had been SUCH good
children all day that at the last moment we telephoned for permission to
include them, too.
"Yes, indeed, do bring the little dears," was the enthusiastic response.
But the choice of Punch and Sadie Kate was a mistake. We ought to have
taken Mamie Prout, who has demonstrated her ability to sit. I shall
spare you the details of our visit; the climax was reached when Punch
went goldfishing in the bottom of the swimming pool. Our host pulled him
out by an agitated leg, and the child returned to the asylum swathed in
that gentleman's rose-colored bathrobe.
What do you think? Dr. Robin MacRae, in a contrite mood for having been
so intensely disagreeable yesterday, has just invited Betsy and me
to take supper in his olive-green house next Sunday evening at seven
o'clock in order to look at some microscopic slides. The entertainment,
I believe, is to consist of a scarlet-fever culture, some alcoholic
tissue, and a tubercular gland. These social attentions bore him
excessively; but he realizes that if he is to have free scope in
applying his theories to the institution he must be a little polite to
its superintendent.
I have just read this letter over, and I must admit that it skips
lightly from topic to topic. But though it may not contain news of any
great moment, I trust you will realize that its writing has consumed
every vacant minute during the last three days. I am,
Most fully occupied,
SALLIE McBRIDE.
P.S. A blessed woman came this morning and said she would take a child
for the summer--one of the sickest, weakest, neediest babies I could
give her. She had just lost her husband, and wanted something HARD to
do. Isn't that really very touching?
Saturday afternoon.
Dear Judy and Jervis:
Brother Jimmie (we are very alliterative!), spurred on by sundry begging
letters from me, has at last sent us a present; but he picked it out
himself.
WE HAVE A MONKEY! His name is Java. The children no longer hear the
school bell ring. On the day the creature came, this entire institution
formed in line and filed past and shook his paw. Poor Sing's nose is out
of joint. I have to PAY to have him washed.
Sadie Kate is developing into my private secretary. I have her answer
the thank-you letters for the institution, and her literary style is
making a hit among our benefactors. She invariably calls out a second
gift. I had hitherto believed that the Kilcoyne family sprang from
the wild west of Ireland, but I begin to suspect that their source was
nearer Blarney Castle. You can see from the inclosed copy of the letter
she sent to Jimmie what a persuasive pen the young person has. I
trust that in this case at least, it will not bear the fruit that she
suggests.