their new brooder is building. You know Jimmie. In one half
a minute his plan was formulated.

"Build an Adirondack camp on that little plateau up by the wood lot.
You can make three open shacks, each holding eight bunks, and move the
twenty-four oldest boys out there for the summer. It won't cost two
cents."

"Yes," I objected, "but it will cost more than two cents to engage a man
to look after them."

"Perfectly easy," said Jimmie, grandly. "I'll find you a college fellow
who'll be glad to come during the vacation for his board and a mere
pittance, only you'll have to set up more filling board than you gave me
tonight."

Dr. MacRae dropped in about nine o'clock, after visiting the hospital
ward. We've got three cases of whooping cough, but all isolated, and no
more coming. How those three got in is a mystery. It seems there is a
little bird that brings whooping cough to orphan asylums.

Jimmie fell upon him for backing in his camp scheme, and the doctor gave
it enthusiastically. They seized pencil and paper and drew up plans. And
before the evening was over, the last nail was hammered. Nothing would
satisfy those two men but to go to the telephone at ten o'clock and
rouse a poor carpenter from his sleep. He and some lumber are ordered
for eight in the morning.

I finally got rid of them at ten-thirty, still talking uprights and
joists and drainage and roof slants.

The excitement of Jimmie and coffee and all these building operations
induced me to sit down immediately and write a letter to you; but I
think, by your leave, I'll postpone further details to another time.
Yours ever,

SALLIE.

Saturday.

Dear Enemy:

Will you be after dining with us at seven tonight? It's a real dinner
party; we're going to have ice-cream.

My brother has discovered a promising young man to take charge of the
boys,--maybe you know him,--Mr. Witherspoon, at the bank. I wish to
introduce him to asylum circles by easy steps, so PLEASE don't mention
insanity or epilepsy or alcoholism or any of your other favorite topics.

He is a gay young society leader, used to very fancy things to eat. Do
you suppose we can ever make him happy at the John Grier Home? Yours in
evident haste,

SALLIE McBRIDE.

Sunday.

Dear Judy:

Jimmie was back at eight Friday morning, and the doctor at a quarter
past. They and the carpenter and our new farmer and Noah and our two
horses and our eight biggest boys have been working ever since.