I am pleased to say that I gave that indignant deacon and his wife such
a thorough scolding as I am sure they have never listened to from the
pulpit. I borrowed some vigorous bits from Sandy's vocabulary, and sent
them home quite humbled. As for poor little Hattie, here she is back
again, after going out with such high hopes. It has an awfully bad moral
effect on a child to be returned to the asylum in disgrace, especially
when she wasn't aware of committing a crime. It gives her a feeling that
the world is full of unknown pitfalls, and makes her afraid to take
a step. I must bend all my energies now toward finding another set of
parents for her, and ones that haven't grown so old and settled and good
that they have entirely forgotten their own childhood.
Sunday.
I forgot to tell you that our new farmer is here, Turnfelt by name; and
his wife is a love, yellow hair and dimples. If she were an orphan,
I could place her in a minute. We can't let her go to waste. I have
a beautiful plan of building an addition to the farmer's cottage, and
establishing under her comfortable care a sort of brooding-house where
we can place our new little chicks, to make sure they haven't anything
contagious and to eliminate as much profanity as possible before turning
them loose among our other perfect chicks.
How does that strike you? It is very necessary in an institution as full
of noise and movement and stir as this to have some isolated spot where
we can put cases needing individual attention. Some of our children
have inherited nerves, and a period of quiet contemplation is indicated.
Isn't my vocabulary professional and scientific? Daily intercourse with
Dr. Robin MacRae is extremely educational.
Since Turnfelt came, you should see our pigs. They are so clean and pink
and unnatural that they don't recognize one another any more as they
pass.
Our potato field is also unrecognizable. It has been divided with string
and pegs into as many squares as a checker-board, and every child has
staked out a claim. Seed catalogues form our only reading matter.
Noah has just returned from a trip to the village for the Sunday papers
to amuse his leisure. Noah is a very cultivated person; he not only
reads perfectly, but he wears tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles while he
does it. He also brought from the post office a letter from you, written
Friday night. I am pained to note that you do not care for "Gosta
Berling" and that Jervis doesn't. The only comment I can make is, "What
a shocking lack of literary taste in the Pendleton family!"