"You have nothing whatever to say about it," I amiably replied. "I
have decided that the two-acre field is the best plot to use for the
children's gardens, and you and the potatoes will have to give way."
Whereupon he rose in a storm of bucolic wrath, and said he'd be gol
darned if he'd have a lot of these danged city brats interfering with
his work.
I explained--very calmly for a red-haired person with Irish
forebears--that this place was run for the exclusive benefit of these
children; that the children were not here to be exploited for the
benefit of the place, a philosophy which he did not grasp, though my
fancy city language had a slightly dampening effect. I added that what
I required in a farmer was the ability and patience to instruct the
boys in gardening and simple outdoor work; that I wished a man of
large sympathies whose example would be an inspiring influence to these
children of the city streets.
Sterry, pacing about like a caged woodchuck, launched into a tirade
about silly Sunday-school notions, and, by a transition which I did not
grasp, passed to a review of the general subject of woman's suffrage.
I gathered that he is not in favor of the movement. I let him argue
himself quiet, then I handed him a check for his wages, and told him to
vacate the tenant house by twelve o'clock next Wednesday.
Sterry says he'll be danged if he will. (Excuse so many DANGEDS. It
is the creature's only adjective.) He was engaged to work for this
institution by the president of the board of trustees, and he will not
move from that house until the president of the board of trustees tells
him to go. I don't think poor Sterry realizes that since his arrival a
new president has come to the throne.
ALORS you have the story. I make no threats, but Sterry or McBride--take
your choice, dear sir.
I am also about to write to the head of the Massachusetts Agricultural
College, at Amherst, asking him to recommend a good, practical man with
a nice, efficient, cheerful wife, who will take the entire care of our
modest domain of seventeen acres, and who will be a man with the right
personality to place over our boys.
If we get the farming end of this institution into running shape, it
ought to furnish not only beans and onions for the table, but education
for our hands and brains.
I remain, sir, Yours most truly, S. McBRIDE, Superintendent of the John
Grier Home.
P.S. I think that Sterry will probably come back some night and throw
rocks through the windows. Shall I have them insured?