Dear Enemy

We've our ain bit weird to dree!

As ever,

S. McBRIDE.

THE JOHN GRIER HOME,

Friday, likewise Saturday.

Dear Judy:

Singapore is still living in the carriage house, and receiving a daily

carbolic-scented bath from Tammas Kehoe. I am hoping that some day, in

the distant future, my darling will be fit to return.

You will be pleased to hear that I have instituted a new method of

spending your money. We are henceforth to buy a part of our shoes and

drygoods and drug store comestibles from local shops, at not quite such

low prices as the wholesale jobbers give, but still at a discount,

and the education that is being thrown in is worth the difference. The

reason is this: I have made the discovery that half of my children know

nothing of money or its purchasing power. They think that shoes and corn

meal and red-flannel petticoats and mutton stew and gingham shirts just

float down from the blue sky.

Last week I dropped a new green dollar bill out of my purse, and an

eight-year-old urchin picked it up and asked if he could keep that

picture of a bird. (American eagle in the center.) That child had never

seen a bill in his life! I began an investigation, and discovered that

dozens of children in this asylum have never bought anything or have

ever seen anybody buy anything. And we are planning to turn them out

at sixteen into a world governed entirely by the purchasing power of

dollars and cents! Good heavens! just think of it! They are not to lead

sheltered lives with somebody eternally looking after them; they have

got to know how to get the very most they can out of every penny they

can manage to earn.

I pondered the question all one night, at intervals, and went to the

village at nine o'clock the next morning. I held conferences with seven

storekeepers; found four open-minded and helpful, two doubtful, and

one actively stupid. I have started with the four--drygoods, groceries,

shoes, and stationery. In return for somewhat large orders from us, they

are to turn themselves and their clerks into teachers for my children,

who are to go to the stores, inspect the stocks, and do their own

purchasing with real money.

For example, Jane needs a spool of blue sewing-silk and a yard of

elastic; so two little girls, intrusted with a silver quarter, trot

hand in hand to Mr. Meeker's. They match the silk with anxious care, and

watch the clerk jealously while he measures the elastic, to make sure

that he doesn't stretch it. Then they bring back six cents change,

receive my thanks and praise, and retire to the ranks tingling with a

sense of achievement.