Good-by, and I'm glad you didn't put in the other woman. The very
suggestion of somebody else taking over my own beautiful reforms before
they were even started, stirred up all the opposition in me. I'm afraid
I'm like Sandy--I canna think aught is dune richt except my ain hand is
in 't.
Yours, for the present,
SALLIE McBRIDE.
THE JOHN GRIER HOME,
Sunday.
Dear Gordon:
I know that I haven't written lately; you have a perfect right to
grumble, but oh dear! oh dear! you can't imagine what a busy person an
orphan asylum superintendent is. And all the writing energy I possess
has to be expended upon that voracious Judy Abbott Pendleton. If three
days go by without a letter she telegraphs to know if the asylum has
burned; whereas, if you--nice man--go letterless, you simply send us a
present to remind us of your existence. So, you see, it's distinctly to
our advantage to slight you often.
You will probably be annoyed when I tell you that I have promised to
stay on here. They finally did find a woman to take my place, but she
wasn't at all the right type and would have answered only temporarily.
And, my dear Gordon, it's true, when I faced saying good-by to this
feverish planning and activity, Worcester somehow looked rather
colorless. I couldn't bear to let my asylum go unless I was sure of
substituting a life packed equally full of sensation.
I know the alternative you will suggest, but please don't--just now. I
told you before that I must have a few months longer to make up my mind.
And in the meantime I like the feeling that I'm of use in the world.
There's something constructive and optimistic about working with
children; that is, if you look at it from my cheerful point of view,
and not from our Scotch doctor's. I've never seen anybody like that man;
he's always pessimistic and morbid and down. It's best not to be too
intelligent about insanity and dipsomania and all the other hereditary
details. I am just about ignorant enough to be light-hearted and
effective in a place like this.
The thought of all of these little lives expanding in every direction
eternally thrills me. There are so many possibilities in our
child garden for every kind of flower. It has been planted rather
promiscuously, to be sure, but though we undoubtedly shall gather
a number of weeds, we are also hoping for some rare and beautiful
blossoms. Am I not growing sentimental? It is due to hunger--and there
goes the dinner-gong! We are going to have a delicious meal: roast beef
and creamed carrots and beet greens, with rhubarb pie for dessert. Would
you not like to dine with me? I should love to have you.