The mail has just come, with a letter from Mrs. Bretland, telling
how happy they are to have the children. She inclosed their first
photograph--all packed in a governess cart, with Clifford proudly
holding the reins, and a groom at the pony's head. How is that for three
late inmates of the John Grier Home?
It's all very inspiring when I think of their futures, but a trifle sad
when I remember their poor father, and how he worked himself to death
for those three chicks who are going to forget him. The Bretlands
will do their best to accomplish that. They are jealous of any outside
influence and want to make the babies wholly theirs. After all, I think
the natural way is best--for each family to produce its own children,
and keep them.
Friday.
I saw the doctor today. He's a pathetic sight, consisting mostly of
bandages. Somehow or other we got our misunderstandings all made up.
Isn't it dreadful the way two human beings, both endowed with fair
powers of speech, can manage to convey nothing of their psychological
processes to each other?
I haven't understood his mental attitude from the first, and he even
yet doesn't understand mine. This grim reticence that we Northern
people struggle so hard to maintain! I don't know after all but that the
excitable Southern safety valve method is the best.
But, Judy, such a dreadful thing--do you remember last year when he
visited that psychopathic institution, and stayed ten days, and I made
such a silly fuss about it? Oh, my dear, the impossible things I do! He
went to attend his wife's funeral. She died there in the institution.
Mrs. McGurk knew it all the time, and might have added it to the rest of
her news, but she didn't.
He told me all about her, very sweetly. The poor man for years and years
has undergone a terrible strain, and I fancy her death is a blessed
relief. He confesses that he knew at the time of his marriage that he
ought not to marry her, he knew all about her nervous instability;
but he thought, being a doctor, that he could overcome it, and she was
beautiful! He gave up his city practice and came to the country on her
account. And then after the little girl's birth she went all to pieces,
and he had to "put her away," to use Mrs. McGurk's phrase. The child is
six now, a sweet, lovely little thing to look at, but, I judge from what
he said, quite abnormal. He has a trained nurse with her always. Just
think of all that tragedy looming over our poor patient good doctor, for
he is patient, despite being the most impatient man that ever lived!