Meanwhile Master John is in a happily chastened frame of mind and body.
And I rather suspect that Sandy's moralizing had the more force because
it was preceded by my pancake turner! But one thing I know--Suzanne
Estelle is terrified whenever I step into her kitchen. I casually picked
up the potato-masher this morning while I was commenting upon last
night's over-salty soup, and she ran to cover behind the woodshed door.
Tomorrow at nine I set out on my travels, after preparing the way with
five telegrams. And, oh! you can't imagine how I'm looking forward to
being a gay, carefree young thing again--to canoeing on the lake and
tramping in the woods and dancing at the clubhouse. I was in a state of
delirium all night long at the prospect. Really, I hadn't realized how
mortally tired I had become of all this asylum scenery.
"What you need," said Sandy to me, "is to get away for a little and sow
some wild oats."
That diagnosis was positively clairvoyant. I can't think of anything in
the world I'd rather do than sow a few wild oats. I'll come back with
fresh energy, ready to welcome you and a busy summer.
As ever,
SALLIE.
P.S. Jimmie and Gordon are both going to be up there. How I wish you
could join us! A husband is very discommoding.
CAMP McBRIDE,
July 29.
Dear Judy:
This is to tell you that the mountains are higher than usual, the woods
greener, and the lake bluer.
People seem late about coming up this year. The Harrimans' camp is the
only other one at our end of the lake that is open. The clubhouse is
very scantily supplied with dancing men, but we have as house guest an
obliging young politician who likes to dance, so I am not discommoded by
the general scarcity.
The affairs of the nation and the rearing of orphans are alike delegated
to the background while we paddle about among the lily pads of this
delectable lake. I look forward with reluctance to 7:56 next Monday
morning, when I turn my back on the mountains. The awful thing about a
vacation is that the moment it begins your happiness is already clouded
by its approaching end.
I hear a voice on the veranda asking if Sallie is to be found within or
without.
ADDIO!
S.
August 3.
Dear Judy:
Back at the John Grier, reshouldering the burdens of the coming
generation. What should meet my eyes upon entering these grounds but
John Cobden, of pancake turner memory, wearing a badge upon his sleeve.
I turned it to me and read "S. P. C. A." in letters of gold! The doctor,
during my absence, has formed a local branch of the Cruelty to Animals,
and made Johnnie its president.