Dear Enemy

You would hardly credit some of the homes that we have investigated. We

found a very prosperous country family the other day, who lived huddled

together in three rooms in order to keep the rest of their handsome

house clean. The fourteen-year girl they wished to adopt, by way of a

cheap servant, was to sleep in the same tiny room with their own three

children. Their kitchen-dining-parlor apartment was more cluttered up

and unaired than any city tenement I ever saw, and the thermometer at

eighty-four. One could scarcely say they were living there; they were

rather COOKING. You may be sure they got no girl from us!

I have made one invariable rule--every other is flexible. No child is

to be placed out unless the proposed family can offer better advantages

than we can give. I mean than we are going to be able to give in the

course of a few months, when we get ourselves made over into a model

institution. I shall have to confess that at present we are still pretty

bad.

But anyway, I am very CHOOSEY in regard to homes, and I reject

three-fourths of those that offer.

LATER.

Gordon has made honorable amends to my children. His bag of peanuts is

here, made of burlap and three feet high.

Do you remember the dessert of peanuts and maple sugar they used to

give us at college? We turned up our noses, but ate. I am instituting it

here, and I assure you we don't turn up our noses. It is a pleasure to

feed children who have graduated from a course of Mrs. Lippett; they are

pathetically grateful for small blessings.

You can't complain that this letter is too short.

Yours,

On the verge of writer's cramp,

S. McB.

THE JOHN GRIER HOME,

Off and on, all day Friday.

Dear Judy:

You will be interested to hear that I have encountered another

enemy--the doctor's housekeeper. I had talked to the creature several

times over the telephone, and had noted that her voice was not

distinguished by the soft, low accents that mark the caste of "Vere de

Vere"; but now I have seen her. This morning, while returning from the

village, I made a slight detour, and passed our doctor's house. Sandy

is evidently the result of environment--olive green, with a mansard roof

and the shades pulled down. You would think he had just been holding a

funeral.

I don't wonder that the amenities of life have somewhat escaped the

poor man. After studying the outside of his house, I was filled with

curiosity to see if the inside matched.