I hear that yesterday he stopped the workmen on the foundation for the
new farm cottage and scolded them severely for whipping their horses up
the incline! None of all this strikes any one but me as funny.
There's a lot of news, but with you due in four days, why bother to
write? Just one delicious bit I am saving for the end.
So hold your breath. You are going to receive a thrill on page 4. You
should hear Sadie Kate squeal! Jane is cutting her hair.
Instead of wearing it in two tight braids like this--our little colleen
will in the future look like this--
"Them pigtails got on my nerves," says Jane.
You can see how much more stylish and becoming the present coiffure is.
I think somebody will be wanting to adopt her. Only Sadie Kate is such
an independent, manly little creature; she is eminently fitted by nature
to shift for herself. I must save adopting parents for the helpless
ones.
You should see our new clothes! I can't wait for this assemblage
of rosebuds to burst upon you. And you should have seen those blue
ginghamed eyes brighten when the new frocks were actually given
out--three for each girl, all different colors, and all perfectly
private personal property, with the owner's indelible name inside the
collar. Mrs. Lippett's lazy system of having each child draw from the
wash a promiscuous dress each week, was an insult to feminine nature.
Sadie Kate is squealing like a baby pig. I must go to see if Jane has by
mistake clipped off an ear.
Jane hasn't. Sadie's excellent ears are still intact. She is just
squealing on principle; the way one does in a dentist's chair, under the
belief that it is going to hurt the next instant.
I really can't think of anything else to write except my news,--so here
it is,--and I hope you'll like it.
I am engaged to be married.
My love to you both.
S. McB.
THE JOHN GRIER HOME,
November 15.
Dear Judy:
Betsy and I are just back from a GIRO in our new motor car. It
undoubtedly does add to the pleasure of institution life. The car of its
own accord turned up Long Ridge Road, and stopped before the gates of
Shadywell. The chains were up, and the shutters battened down, and the
place looked closed and gloomy and rain-soaked. It wore a sort of fall
of the House of Usher air, and didn't in the least resemble the cheerful
house that used to greet me hospitably of an afternoon.
I hate to have our nice summer ended. It seems as though a section of
my life was shut away behind me, and the unknown future was pressing
awfully close. Positively, I'd like to postpone that wedding another six
months, but I'm afraid poor Gordon would make too dreadful a fuss. Don't
think I'm getting wobbly, for I'm not. It's just that somehow I need
more time to think about it, and March is getting nearer every day. I
know absolutely that I'm doing the most sensible thing. Everybody,
man or woman, is the better for being nicely and appropriately and
cheerfully married. But oh dear! oh dear! I do hate upheavals, and this
is going to be such a world-without-end upheaval! Sometimes when the
day's work is over, and I'm tired, I haven't the spirit to rise and meet
it.