ith heightened ardor and an
attempt at whistling. We'll succeed yet in conquering that young man's
temper.

Tuesday.

The doctor is in a very grumbly mood today. He called just as the
children were marching in to dinner, whereupon he marched, too, and
sampled their food, and, oh, my dear! the potatoes were scorched! And
such a clishmaclaver as that man made! It is the first time the potatoes
ever have been scorched, and you know that scorching sometimes happens
in the best of families. But you would think from Sandy's language that
the cook had scorched them on purpose, in accordance with my orders.

As I have told you before, I could do very nicely without Sandy.

Wednesday.

Yesterday being a wonderful sunny day, Betsy and I turned our backs upon
duty and motored to the very fancy home of some friends of hers, where
we had tea in an Italian garden. Punch and Sadie Kate had been SUCH good
children all day that at the last moment we telephoned for permission to
include them, too.

"Yes, indeed, do bring the little dears," was the enthusiastic response.

But the choice of Punch and Sadie Kate was a mistake. We ought to have
taken Mamie Prout, who has demonstrated her ability to sit. I shall
spare you the details of our visit; the climax was reached when Punch
went goldfishing in the bottom of the swimming pool. Our host pulled him
out by an agitated leg, and the child returned to the asylum swathed in
that gentleman's rose-colored bathrobe.

What do you think? Dr. Robin MacRae, in a contrite mood for having been
so intensely disagreeable yesterday, has just invited Betsy and me
to take supper in his olive-green house next Sunday evening at seven
o'clock in order to look at some microscopic slides. The entertainment,
I believe, is to consist of a scarlet-fever culture, some alcoholic
tissue, and a tubercular gland. These social attentions bore him
excessively; but he realizes that if he is to have free scope in
applying his theories to the institution he must be a little polite to
its superintendent.

I have just read this letter over, and I must admit that it skips
lightly from topic to topic. But though it may not contain news of any
great moment, I trust you will realize that its writing has consumed
every vacant minute during the last three days. I am,

Most fully occupied,

SALLIE McBRIDE.

P.S. A blessed woman came this morning and said she would take a child
for the summer--one of the sickes