I would write a respectable letter, but it's teatime, and I see that a
guest approaches.
ADDIO!
SALLIE.
P.S. Don't you know some one who would like to adopt a desirable baby
boy with seventeen nice new teeth?
April 20. My dear Judy:
One a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns! We've had a Good Friday
present of ten dozen, given by Mrs. De Peyster Lambert, a high church,
stained-glass-window soul whom I met at a tea a few days ago. (Who
says now that teas are a silly waste of time?) She asked me about my
"precious little waifs," and said I was doing a noble work and would be
rewarded. I saw buns in her eye, and sat down and talked to her for half
an hour.
Now I shall go and thank her in person, and tell her with a great deal
of affecting detail how much those buns were appreciated by my precious
little waifs--omitting the account of how precious little Punch threw
his bun at Miss Snaith and plastered her neatly in the eye. I think,
with encouragement, Mrs. De Peyster Lambert can be developed into a
cheerful giver.
Oh, I'm growing into the most shocking beggar! My family don't dare
to visit me, because I demand BAKSHISH in such a brazen manner. I
threatened to remove father from my calling list unless he shipped
immediately sixty-five pairs of overalls for my prospective gardeners.
A notice from the freight office this morning asks me to remove two
packing cases consigned to them by the J. L. McBride Co. of Worcester;
so I take it that father desires to continue my acquaintance. Jimmie
hasn't sent us anything yet, and he's getting a huge salary. I write him
frequently a pathetic list of our needs.
But Gordon Hallock has learned the way to a mother's heart. I was so
pleasant about the peanuts and menagerie that now he sends a present of
some sort every few days, and I spend my entire time composing thank-you
letters that aren't exact copies of the ones I've sent before. Last week
we received a dozen big scarlet balls. The nursery is FULL of them;
you kick them before you as you walk. And yesterday there arrived a
half-bushel of frogs and ducks and fishes to float in the bathtubs.
Send, O best of trustees, the tubs in which to float them!
I am, as usual,
S. McBRIDE.
Tuesday. My dear Judy:
Spring must be lurking about somewhere; the birds are arriving from the
South. Isn't it time you followed their example?
Society note from the BIRD O' PASSAGE NEWS: