o put out any sewing. We have spent a great deal on doctors since we
were married, but of course with a young child we can't very well expect
anything else.

And now, dearest mother, I have something to tell you, which no one
knows--not even Oliver--except Doctor Marshall and myself. We are going
to have another darling baby in March, if everything goes as it ought
to. I have kept it a secret because Oliver has had a good many business
worries, and I knew it would make him miserable. It never seems to have
entered his head that it might happen again so soon, and for his sake I
do wish we could have waited until we got a little more money in the
bank, but I suppose I oughtn't to say this because God would certainly
not send children into the world unless it was right for them to be
born. I try to remember what dear grandmamma said when somebody condoled
with her at the time she was expecting her tenth child--that she hoped
she was too good a Christian to dictate to the Lord as to how many souls
He should send into the world. As for me, I should be perfectly
delighted--it will be so much better for baby to have a little brother
or sister to play with when she gets bigger--but I can't help worrying
about Oliver's peculiar attitude of mind. I am sure that father wouldn't
have felt that way, and think how poor he has always been. Perhaps it
comes from dear Oliver having lived abroad so much and away from the
Christian influences, which have been one of the greatest blessings of
my life. I have put off telling him every day just because I dread to
think of the blow it will be to him. He is the dearest and best husband
that ever lived, and I worship the ground he walks on, but, do you know,
things are always a surprise to him when they happen? He never looks
ahead a single minute. I am sometimes afraid that he isn't the least bit
practical, and it makes him impatient when I talk to him about trying to
cut down expenses. Of course, I have to save as much as I can and I
count every single penny, or we'd never have enough money to get through
the month. I never buy a stitch for either the baby or myself, though
Oliver complains now and then that I don't dress as well as I used to
do. But how can I when I've worn the same things ever since my marriage,
besides making the baby's clothes out of my old ones? You can understand
from this how grateful I am for the check you sent--but, dearest mother,
I know that you oughtn't to have don