Dear Enemy

Do leave those insane people to their delusions, and come back to the

John Grier Home, which needs you.

I am most fervent' Your friend and servant, S. McB.

P.S. Don't you admire that poetical ending? It was borrowed from Robert

Burns, whose works I am reading assiduously as a compliment to a Scotch

friend.

July 6.

Dear Judy:

That doctor man is still away. No word; just disappeared into space.

I don't know whether he is ever coming back or not, but we seem to be

running very happily without him.

I lunched yesterday CHEZ the two kind ladies who have taken our Punch to

their hearts. The young man seems to be very much at home. He took me

by the hand, and did the honors of the garden, presenting me with the

bluebell of my choice. At luncheon the English butler lifted him into

his chair and tied on his bib with as much manner as though he were

serving a prince of the blood. The butler has lately come from the

household of the Earl of Durham, Punch from a cellar in Houston Street.

It was a very uplifting spectacle.

My hostesses entertained me afterward with excerpts from their table

conversations of the last two weeks. (I wonder the butler hasn't given

notice; he looked like a respectable man.) If nothing more comes of it,

at least Punch has furnished them with funny stories for the rest of

their lives. One of them is even thinking of writing a book. "At least,"

says she, wiping hysterical tears from her eyes, "we have lived!"

The Hon. Cy dropped in at 6:30 last night, and found me in an evening

gown, starting for a dinner at Mrs. Livermore's house. He mildly

observed that Mrs. Lippett did not aspire to be a society leader, but

saved her energy for her work. You know I'm not vindictive, but I never

look at that man without wishing he were at the bottom of the duck pond,

securely anchored to a rock.

Otherwise he'd pop up and float.

Singapore respectfully salutes you, and is very glad that you can't see

him as he now appears. A shocking calamity has befallen his good looks.

Some bad child--and I don't think she's a boy--has clipped that poor

beastie in spots, until he looks like a mangy, moth-eaten checkerboard.

No one can imagine who did it. Sadie Kate is very handy with the

scissors, but she is also handy with an alibi! During the time when the

clipping presumably occurred, she was occupying a stool in the corner of

the schoolroom with her face to the wall, as twenty-eight children can

testify. However, it has become Sadie Kate's daily duty to treat those

spots with your hair tonic.