Saturday.

Our doctor doesn't like to be called "Enemy." It hurts his feelings or
his dignity or something of the sort. But since I will persist, despite
his expostulations, he has finally retaliated with a nickname for me. He
calls me "Miss Sally Lunn," and is in a glow of pride at having achieved
such an imaginative flight.

He and I have invented a new pastime: he talks Scotch, and I answer in
Irish. Our conversations run like this:

"Good afthernoon to ye, docther. An' how's yer health the day?"

"Verra weel, verra weel. And how gas it wi' a' the bairns?"

"Shure, they're all av thim doin' foin."

"I'm gey glad to hear it. This saft weather is hard on folk. There's
muckle sickness aboot the kintra."

"Hiven be praised it has not lighted here! But sit down, docther, an'
make yersilf at home. Will ye be afther havin' a cup o' tay?"

"Hoot, woman! I would na hae you fash yoursel', but a wee drap tea winna
coom amiss."

"Whist! It's no thruble at all."

You may not think this a very dizzying excursion into frivolity; but I
assure you, for one of Sandy's dignity, it's positively riotous. The man
has been in a heavenly temper ever since I came back; not a single cross
word. I am beginning to think I may reform him as well as Punch.

This letter must be about long enough even for you. I've been writing it
bit by bit for three days, whenever I happened to pass my desk.

Yours as ever,

SALLIE.

P.S. I don't think much of your vaunted prescription for hair tonic.
Either the druggist didn't mix it right, or Jane didn't apply it with
discretion. I stuck to the pillow this morning.

THE JOHN GRIER HOME,

Saturday.

Dear Gordon:

Your letter of Thursday is at hand, and extremely silly I consider it.
Of course I am not trying to let you down easy; that isn't my way. If I
let you down at all, it will be suddenly and with an awful bump. But
I honestly didn't realize that it had been three weeks since I wrote.
Please excuse!

Also, my dear sir, I have to bring you to account. You were in New York
last week, and you never ran up to see us. You thought we wouldn't find
it out, but we heard--and are insulted.

Would you like an outline of my day's activities? Wrote monthly report
for trustees' meeting. Audited accounts. Entertained agent of State
Charities Aid Association for luncheon. Supervised children's menus for
next ten days. Dictated five letters to families who have our children.
Visited our litt