hers!

And what, my dear Judy, do you think of that?

The doctor dropped in a few minutes later, and I repeated the Hon.
Cyrus's conversation in detail. For the first time in the history of our
intercourse the doctor and I agreed.

"Mrs. Lippett indeed!" he growled. "The blethering auld gomerel! May the
Lord send him mair sense!"

When our doctor really becomes aroused, he drops into Scotch. My latest
pet name for him (behind his back) is Sandy.

Sadie Kate is sitting on the floor as I write, untangling sewing-silks
and winding them neatly for Jane, who is becoming quite attached to the
little imp.

"I am writing to your Aunt Judy," say I to Sadie Kate. "What message
shall I send from you?"

"I never heard of no Aunt Judy."

"She is the aunt of every good little girl in this school."

"Tell her to come and visit me and bring some candy," says Sadie Kate.

I say so, too.

My love to the president,

SALLIE.

March 13.

MRS. JUDY ABBOTT PENDLETON,

Dear Madam:

Your four letters, two telegrams, and three checks are at hand, and
your instructions shall be obeyed just as quickly as this overworked
superintendent can manage it.

I delegated the dining room job to Betsy Kindred. One hundred dollars
did I allow her for the rehabilitation of that dreary apartment. She
accepted the trust, picked out five likely orphans to assist in the
mechanical details, and closed the door.

For three days the children have been eating from the desks in the
schoolroom. I haven't an idea what Betsy is doing; but she has a lot
better taste than I, so there isn't much use in interfering.

It is such a heaven-sent relief to be able to leave something to
somebody else, and be sure it will be carried out! With all due respect
to the age and experience of the staff I found here, they are not very
open to new ideas. As the John Grier Home was planned by its noble
founder in 1875, so shall it be run today.

Incidentally, my dear Judy, your idea of a private dining room for the
superintendent, which I, being a social soul, at first scorned, has
been my salvation. When I am dead tired I dine alone, but in my live
intervals I invite an officer to share the meal; and in the expansive
intimacy of the dinner-table I get in my most effective strokes. When it
becomes desirable to plant the seeds of fresh air in the soul of Miss
Snaith, I invite her to dinner, and tactfully sandwich in a little
oxygen between her slices of pressed