Returning at teatime, I was waylaid in the hall by Dr. MacRae, who
demanded some statistics from my office. I opened the door, and there
sat Mamie Prout exactly where she had been left four hours before.
"Mamie darling!" I cried in horror. "You haven't been here all this
time?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Mamie; "you told me to wait until you came back."
That poor patient little thing was fairly swaying with weariness, but
she never uttered a whimper.
I will say for Sandy that he was SWEET. He gathered her up in his arms
and carried her to my library, and petted her and caressed her back to
smiles. Jane brought the sewing table and spread it before the fire,
and while the doctor and I had tea, Mamie had her supper. I suppose,
according to the theory of some educators, now, when she was thoroughly
worn out and hungry, would have been the psychological moment to ply her
with prunes. But you will be pleased to hear that I did nothing of the
sort, and that the doctor for once upheld my unscientific principles.
Mamie had the most wonderful supper of her life, embellished with
strawberry jam from my private jar and peppermints from Sandy's pocket.
We returned her to her mates happy and comforted, but still possessing
that regrettable distaste for prunes.
Did you ever know anything more appalling than this soul-crushing
unreasoning obedience which Mrs. Lippett so insistently fostered? It's
the orphan asylum attitude toward life, and somehow I must crush it out.
Initiative, responsibility, curiosity, inventiveness, fight--oh dear! I
wish the doctor had a serum for injecting all these useful virtues into
an orphan's circulation.
LATER.
I wish you'd come back to New York. I've appointed you press agent
for this institution, and we need some of your floweriest writing
immediately. There are seven tots here crying to be adopted, and it's
your business to advertise them.
Little Gertrude is cross-eyed, but dear and affectionate and generous.
Can't you write her up so persuasively that some loving family will
be willing to take her even if she isn't beautiful? Her eyes can be
operated on when she's older; but if it were a cross disposition she
had, no surgeon in the world could remove that. The child knows there is
something missing, though she has never seen a live parent in her life.
She holds up her arms persuasively to every person who passes. Put in
all the pathos you are capable of, and see if you can't fetch her a
mother and father.
Maybe you can get one of the New York papers to run a Sunday feature
article about a lot of different children. I'll send some photographs.
You remember what a lot of responses that "Smiling Joe" picture brought
for the Sea Breeze people? I can furnish equally taking portraits of
Laughing Lou and Gurgling Gertrude and Kicking Karl if you will just add
the literary touch.