"Who's that?" said Sadie Kate, pouncing upon it.
"It's the docthor's little gurrl."
"Where is she?"
"Shure, she's far away wit' her gran'ma."
"Where'd he get her?"
"His wife give her to him."
I emerged from my book with electric suddenness.
"His wife!" I cried.
The next instant I was furious with myself for having spoken, but I was
so completely taken off my guard. Mrs. McGurk straightened up and became
volubly conversational at once.
"And didn't he never tell you about his wife? She went insane six years
ago. It got so it weren't safe to keep her in the house, and he had to
put her away. It near killed him. I never seen a lady more beautiful
than her. I guess he didn't so much as smile for a year. It's funny he
never told you nothing, and you such a friend!"
"Naturally it's not a subject he cares to talk about," said I dryly, and
I asked her what kind of brass polish she used.
Sadie Kate and I went out to the garage and hunted up the kittens
ourselves; and we mercifully got away before the doctor came back.
But will you tell me what this means? Didn't Jervis know he was
married? It's the queerest thing I ever heard. I do think, as the McGurk
suggests, that Sandy might casually have dropped the information that he
had a wife in an insane asylum.
But of course it must be a terrible tragedy and I suppose he can't bring
himself to talk about it. I see now why he's so morbid over the question
of heredity--I dare say he fears for the little girl. When I think of
all the jokes I've made on the subject, I'm aghast at how I must have
hurt him, and angry with myself and angry with him.
I feel as though I never wanted to see the man again. Mercy! did you
ever know such a muddle as we are getting ourselves into?
Yours, SALLIE.
P.S. Tom McCoomb has pushed Mamie Prout into the box of mortar that the
masons use. She's parboiled. I've sent for the doctor.
July 24. My dear Madam:
I have a shocking scandal to report about the superintendent of the John
Grier Home. Don't let it get into the newspapers, please. I can picture
the spicy details of the investigation prior to her removal by the
"Cruelty."
I was sitting in the sunshine by my open window this morning reading
a sweet book on the Froebel theory of child culture--never lose your
temper, always speak kindly to the little ones. Though they may appear
bad, they are not so in reality. It is either that they are not feeling
well or have nothing interesting to do. Never punish; simply deflect
their attention. I was entertaining a very loving, uplifted attitude
toward all this young life about me when my attention was attracted by a
group of little boys beneath the window.