Dear Enemy

Good-by, and I'm glad you didn't put in the other woman. The very

suggestion of somebody else taking over my own beautiful reforms before

they were even started, stirred up all the opposition in me. I'm afraid

I'm like Sandy--I canna think aught is dune richt except my ain hand is

in 't.

Yours, for the present,

SALLIE McBRIDE.

THE JOHN GRIER HOME,

Sunday.

Dear Gordon:

I know that I haven't written lately; you have a perfect right to

grumble, but oh dear! oh dear! you can't imagine what a busy person an

orphan asylum superintendent is. And all the writing energy I possess

has to be expended upon that voracious Judy Abbott Pendleton. If three

days go by without a letter she telegraphs to know if the asylum has

burned; whereas, if you--nice man--go letterless, you simply send us a

present to remind us of your existence. So, you see, it's distinctly to

our advantage to slight you often.

You will probably be annoyed when I tell you that I have promised to

stay on here. They finally did find a woman to take my place, but she

wasn't at all the right type and would have answered only temporarily.

And, my dear Gordon, it's true, when I faced saying good-by to this

feverish planning and activity, Worcester somehow looked rather

colorless. I couldn't bear to let my asylum go unless I was sure of

substituting a life packed equally full of sensation.

I know the alternative you will suggest, but please don't--just now. I

told you before that I must have a few months longer to make up my mind.

And in the meantime I like the feeling that I'm of use in the world.

There's something constructive and optimistic about working with

children; that is, if you look at it from my cheerful point of view,

and not from our Scotch doctor's. I've never seen anybody like that man;

he's always pessimistic and morbid and down. It's best not to be too

intelligent about insanity and dipsomania and all the other hereditary

details. I am just about ignorant enough to be light-hearted and

effective in a place like this.

The thought of all of these little lives expanding in every direction

eternally thrills me. There are so many possibilities in our

child garden for every kind of flower. It has been planted rather

promiscuously, to be sure, but though we undoubtedly shall gather

a number of weeds, we are also hoping for some rare and beautiful

blossoms. Am I not growing sentimental? It is due to hunger--and there

goes the dinner-gong! We are going to have a delicious meal: roast beef

and creamed carrots and beet greens, with rhubarb pie for dessert. Would

you not like to dine with me? I should love to have you.