Dear Enemy

Betsy Kindred assisted in the rehabilitation of the Lippett's chamber

of horrors, and between us we have created a symphony in dull blue and

gold. Really and truly, it's one of the loveliest rooms you've ever

seen. The sight of it will be an artistic education to any orphan.

New paper on the wall, new rugs on the floor (my own prized Persians

expressed from Worcester by an expostulating family). New casement

curtains at my three windows, revealing a wide and charming view,

hitherto hidden by Nottingham lace. A new big table, some lamps and

books and a picture or so, and a real open fire. She had closed the

fireplace because it let in air.

I never realized what a difference artistic surroundings make in the

peace of one's soul. I sat last night and watched my fire throw nice

highlights on my new old fender, and purred with contentment. And I

assure you it's the first purr that has come from this cat since she

entered the gates of the John Grier Home.

But the refurnishing of the superintendent's parlor is the slightest

of our needs. The children's private apartments demand so much basic

attention that I can't decide where to begin. That dark north playroom

is a shocking scandal, but no more shocking than our hideous dining room

or our unventilated dormitories or our tubless lavatories.

If the institution is very saving, do you think it can ever afford to

burn down this smelly old original building, and put up instead some

nice, ventilated modern cottages? I cannot contemplate that wonderful

institution at Hastings without being filled with envy. It would be some

fun to run an asylum if you had a plant like that to work with. But,

anyway, when you get back to New York and are ready to consult the

architect about remodeling, please apply to me for suggestions. Among

other little details I want two hundred feet of sleeping porch running

along the outside of our dormitories.

You see, it's this way: our physical examination reveals the fact that

about half of our children are aenemic--aneamic--anaemic (Mercy! what

a word!), and a lot of them have tubercular ancestors, and more have

alcoholic. Their first need is oxygen rather than education. And if the

sickly ones need it, why wouldn't it be good for the well ones? I should

like to have every child, winter and summer, sleeping in the open air;

but I know that if I let fall such a bomb on the board of trustees, the

whole body would explode.

Speaking of trustees, I have met up with the Hon. Cyrus Wykoff, and

I really believe that I dislike him more than Dr. Robin MacRae or

the kindergarten teacher or the cook. I seem to have a genius for

discovering enemies!