Dear Enemy

Characters neatly remodeled. S. McBride.

Sandy dropped in two nights ago to have a bit of conversation with Betsy

and me, and he was FRIVOLOUS. He made three jokes, and he sat down at

the piano and sang some old Scotch, "My luve's like a red, red rose,"

and "Come under my plaidie," and "Wha's at the window? Wha? Wha?" not in

the least educational, and then danced a few steps of the strathspey!

I sat and beamed upon my handiwork, for it's true, I've done it all

through my frivolous example and the books I've given him and the

introducing of such lightsome companions as Jimmie and Percy and Gordon

Hallock. If I have a few more months in which to work, I shall get the

man human. He has given up purple ties, and at my tactful suggestion has

adopted a suit of gray. You have no idea how it sets him off. He will

be quite distinguished looking as soon as I can make him stop carrying

bulgy things in his pockets.

Good-by; and remember that we're expecting you on Friday.

SALLIE.

P.S. Here is a picture of Allegra, taken by Mr. Witherspoon. Isn't she

a love? Her present clothes do not enhance her beauty, but in the course

of a few weeks she will move into a pink smocked frock.

Wednesday, June 24, 10 A.M. MRS. JERVIS PENDLETON.

Madam:

Your letter is at hand, stating that you cannot visit me on Friday per

promise, because your husband has business that keeps him in town. What

clishmaclaver is this! Has it come to such a pass that you can't leave

him for two days?

I did not let 113 babies interfere with my visit to you, and I see no

reason why you should let one husband interfere with your visit to me. I

shall meet the Berkshire express on Friday as agreed. S. McBRIDE.

June 30. My dear Judy:

That was a very flying visit you paid us; but for all small favors we

are grateful. I am awfully pleased that you were so delighted with the

way things are going, and I can't wait for Jervis and the architect to

get up here and really begin a fundamental ripping-up.

You know, I had the queerest feeling all the time that you were here. I

can't make it seem true that you, my dear, wonderful Judy, were actually

brought up in this institution, and know from the bitter inside what

these little tots need. Sometimes the tragedy of your childhood fills

me with an anger that makes me want to roll up my sleeves and fight the

whole world and force it into making itself over into a place more fit

for children to live in. That Scotch-Irish ancestry of mine seems to

have deposited a tremendous amount of FIGHT in my character.