We've our ain bit weird to dree!
As ever,
S. McBRIDE.
THE JOHN GRIER HOME,
Friday, likewise Saturday.
Dear Judy:
Singapore is still living in the carriage house, and receiving a daily
carbolic-scented bath from Tammas Kehoe. I am hoping that some day, in
the distant future, my darling will be fit to return.
You will be pleased to hear that I have instituted a new method of
spending your money. We are henceforth to buy a part of our shoes and
drygoods and drug store comestibles from local shops, at not quite such
low prices as the wholesale jobbers give, but still at a discount,
and the education that is being thrown in is worth the difference. The
reason is this: I have made the discovery that half of my children know
nothing of money or its purchasing power. They think that shoes and corn
meal and red-flannel petticoats and mutton stew and gingham shirts just
float down from the blue sky.
Last week I dropped a new green dollar bill out of my purse, and an
eight-year-old urchin picked it up and asked if he could keep that
picture of a bird. (American eagle in the center.) That child had never
seen a bill in his life! I began an investigation, and discovered that
dozens of children in this asylum have never bought anything or have
ever seen anybody buy anything. And we are planning to turn them out
at sixteen into a world governed entirely by the purchasing power of
dollars and cents! Good heavens! just think of it! They are not to lead
sheltered lives with somebody eternally looking after them; they have
got to know how to get the very most they can out of every penny they
can manage to earn.
I pondered the question all one night, at intervals, and went to the
village at nine o'clock the next morning. I held conferences with seven
storekeepers; found four open-minded and helpful, two doubtful, and
one actively stupid. I have started with the four--drygoods, groceries,
shoes, and stationery. In return for somewhat large orders from us, they
are to turn themselves and their clerks into teachers for my children,
who are to go to the stores, inspect the stocks, and do their own
purchasing with real money.
For example, Jane needs a spool of blue sewing-silk and a yard of
elastic; so two little girls, intrusted with a silver quarter, trot
hand in hand to Mr. Meeker's. They match the silk with anxious care, and
watch the clerk jealously while he measures the elastic, to make sure
that he doesn't stretch it. Then they bring back six cents change,
receive my thanks and praise, and retire to the ranks tingling with a
sense of achievement.