You know I am developing a funny old characteristic; I am getting to

hate change. I don't like the prospect of having my life disrupted. I

used to love the excitement of volcanoes, but now a high level plateau

is my choice in landscape. I am very comfortable where I am. My desk

and closet and bureau drawers are organized to suit me; and, oh, I dread

unspeakably the thought of the upheaval that is going to happen to me

next year! Please don't imagine that I don't care for Gordon quite as

much as any man has a right to be cared for. It isn't that I like him

any the less, but I am getting to like orphans the more.

I just met our medical adviser a few minutes ago as he was emerging

from the nursery--Allegra is the only person in the institution who is

favored by his austere social attentions. He paused in passing to make a

polite comment upon the sudden change in the weather, and to express the

hope that I would remember him to Mrs. Pendleton when I wrote.

This is a miserable letter to send off on its travels, with scarcely

a word of the kind of news that you like to hear. But our bare little

orphan asylum up in the hills must seem awfully far away from the palms

and orange groves and lizards and tarantulas that you are enjoying.

Have a good time, and don't forget the John Grier Home

and

SALLIE.

December 11.

Dear Judy:

Your Jamaica letter is here, and I'm glad to learn that Judy, Junior,

enjoys traveling. Write me every detail about your house, and send some

photographs, so I can see you in it. What fun it must be to have a boat

of your own that chugs about those entertaining seas! Have you worn all

of your eighteen white dresses yet? And aren't you glad now that I made

you wait about buying a Panama hat till you reached Kingston?

We are running along here very much as usual without anything exciting

to chronicle. You remember little Maybelle Fuller, don't you--the chorus

girl's daughter whom our doctor doesn't like? We have placed her out.

I tried to make the woman take Hattie Heaphy instead,--the quiet little

one who stole the communion cup,--but no, indeed! Maybelle's eyelashes

won the day. After all, as poor Marie says, the chief thing is to be

pretty. All else in life depends on that.

When I got home last week, after my dash to New York, I made a brief

speech to the children. I told them that I had just been seeing Aunt

Judy off on a big ship, and I am embarrassed to have to report that the

interest--at least on the part of the boys--immediately abandoned Aunt

Judy and centered upon the ship. How many tons of coal did she burn a

day? Was she long enough to reach from the carriage house to the Indian

camp? Were there any guns aboard, and if a privateer should attack her,

could she hold her own? In case of a mutiny, could the captain shoot

down anybody he chose, and wouldn't he be hanged when he got to shore?




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