u remember last year when he
visited that psychopathic institution, and stayed ten days, and I made
such a silly fuss about it? Oh, my dear, the impossible things I do! He
went to attend his wife's funeral. She died there in the institution.
Mrs. McGurk knew it all the time, and might have added it to the rest of
her news, but she didn't.

He told me all about her, very sweetly. The poor man for years and years
has undergone a terrible strain, and I fancy her death is a blessed
relief. He confesses that he knew at the time of his marriage that he
ought not to marry her, he knew all about her nervous instability;
but he thought, being a doctor, that he could overcome it, and she was
beautiful! He gave up his city practice and came to the country on her
account. And then after the little girl's birth she went all to pieces,
and he had to "put her away," to use Mrs. McGurk's phrase. The child is
six now, a sweet, lovely little thing to look at, but, I judge from what
he said, quite abnormal. He has a trained nurse with her always. Just
think of all that tragedy looming over our poor patient good doctor, for
he is patient, despite being the most impatient man that ever lived!

Thank Jervis for his letter. He's a dear man, and I'm glad to see him
getting his deserts. What fun we are going to have when you get back to
Shadywell, and we lay our plans for a new John Grier! I feel as though I
had spent this past year learning, and am now just ready to begin. We'll
turn this into the nicest orphan asylum that ever lived. I'm so absurdly
happy at the prospect that I start in the morning with a spring, and go
about my various businesses singing inside.

The John Grier Home sends its blessing to the two best friends it ever
had!

ADDIO!

SALLIE.

THE JOHN GRIER HOME,

Saturday at half-past six in the morning!

My dearest Enemy:

"Some day soon something nice is going to happen."

Weren't you surprised when you woke up this morning and remembered the
truth? I was! I couldn't think for about two minutes what made me so
happy.

It's not light yet, but I'm wide awake and excited and having to write
to you. I shall despatch this note by the first to-be-trusted little
orphan who appears, and it will go up on your breakfast tray along with
your oatmeal.

I shall follow VERY PROMPTLY at four o'clock this afternoon. Do you
think Mrs. McGurk will ever countenance the scandal if I stay two hours,
and no orphan for a chaperon