Dear Enemy

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.