Dear Enemy

The Hon. Cy was awfully impressed with the new dining room, especially

when he heard that Betsy had put on those rabbits with her own

lily-white hands. Stenciling rabbits on walls, he allows, is a fitting

pursuit for a woman, but an executive position like mine is a trifle out

of her sphere. He thinks it would be far wiser if Mr. Pendleton did not

give me such free scope in the spending of his money.

While we were still contemplating Betsy's mural flight, an awful crash

came from the pantry, and we found Gladiola Murphy weeping among the

ruins of five yellow plates. It is sufficiently shattering to my nerves

to hear these crashes when I am alone, but it is peculiarly shattering

when receiving a call from an unsympathetic trustee.

I shall cherish that set of dishes to the best of my ability, but if you

wish to see your gift in all its uncracked beauty, I should advise you

to hurry North, and visit the John Grier Home without delay.

Yours as ever,

SALLIE.

March 26. My dear Judy:

I have just been holding an interview with a woman who wants to take

a baby home to surprise her husband. I had a hard time convincing her

that, since he is to support the child, it might be a delicate attention

to consult him about its adoption. She argued stubbornly that it was

none of his business, seeing that the onerous work of washing and

dressing and training would fall upon her. I am really beginning to feel

sorry for men. Some of them seem to have very few rights.

Even our pugnacious doctor I suspect of being a victim of domestic

tyranny, and his housekeeper's at that. It is scandalous the way Maggie

McGurk neglects the poor man. I have had to put him in charge of an

orphan. Sadie Kate, with a very housewifely air, is this moment sitting

cross-legged on the hearth rug sewing buttons on his overcoat while he

is upstairs tending babies.

You would never believe it, but Sandy and I are growing quite

confidential in a dour Scotch fashion. It has become his habit, when

homeward bound after his professional calls, to chug up to our door

about four in the afternoon, and make the rounds of the house to

make sure that we are not developing cholera morbus or infanticide or

anything catching, and then present himself at four-thirty at my library

door to talk over our mutual problems.

Does he come to see me? Oh, no, indeed; he comes to get tea and toast

and marmalade. The man hath a lean and hungry look. His housekeeper

doesn't feed him enough. As soon as I get the upper hand of him a little

more, I am going to urge him on to revolt.