Dear Enemy

We have our twenty-four Indians back in the house with us. I was sorry

to have to bring them in, but the shacks were scarcely planned for

winter quarters. I have stowed them away very comfortably, however,

thanks to the spacious iron verandas surrounding our new fire-escape.

It was a happy idea of Jervis's having them glassed in for sleeping

porches. The babies' sun parlor is a wonderful addition to our nursery.

We can fairly see the little tots bloom under the influence of that

extra air and sunshine.

With the return of the Indians to civilized life, Percy's occupation was

ended, and he was supposed to remove himself to the hotel. But he didn't

want to remove himself. He has got used to orphans, he says, and he

would miss not seeing them about. I think the truth is that he is

feeling so miserable over his wrecked engagement that he is afraid to be

alone. He needs something to occupy every waking moment out of banking

hours. And goodness knows we're glad enough to keep him! He has been

wonderful with those youngsters, and they need a man's influence.

But what on earth to do with the man? As you discovered last summer,

this spacious chateau does not contain a superabundance of guest rooms.

He has finally fitted himself into the doctor's laboratory, and the

medicines have moved themselves to a closet down the hall. He and the

doctor fixed it up between them, and if they are willing to be mutually

inconvenienced, I have no fault to find.

Mercy! I've just looked at the calendar, and it's the eighteenth, with

Christmas only a week away. However shall we finish all our plans in a

week? The chicks are making presents for one another, and something like

a thousand secrets have been whispered in my ear.

Snow last night. The boys have spent the morning in the woods, gathering

evergreens and drawing them home on sleds; and twenty girls are spending

the afternoon in the laundry, winding wreaths for the windows. I don't

know how we are going to do our washing this week. We were planning to

keep the Christmas tree a secret, but fully fifty children have been

boosted up to the carriage house window to take a peep at it, and I am

afraid the news has spread among the remaining fifty.

At your insistence, we have sedulously fostered the Santa Claus myth,

but it doesn't meet with much credence. "Why didn't he ever come

before?" was Sadie Kate's skeptical question. But Santa Claus is

undoubtedly coming this time. I asked the doctor, out of politeness, to

play the chief role at our Christmas tree; and being certain ahead of

time that he was going to refuse, I had already engaged Percy as an

understudy. But there is no counting on a Scotchman. Sandy accepted with

unprecedented graciousness, and I had privately to unengage Percy!