ing view,
hitherto hidden by Nottingham lace. A new big table, some lamps and
books and a picture or so, and a real open fire. She had closed the
fireplace because it let in air.

I never realized what a difference artistic surroundings make in the
peace of one's soul. I sat last night and watched my fire throw nice
highlights on my new old fender, and purred with contentment. And I
assure you it's the first purr that has come from this cat since she
entered the gates of the John Grier Home.

But the refurnishing of the superintendent's parlor is the slightest
of our needs. The children's private apartments demand so much basic
attention that I can't decide where to begin. That dark north playroom
is a shocking scandal, but no more shocking than our hideous dining room
or our unventilated dormitories or our tubless lavatories.

If the institution is very saving, do you think it can ever afford to
burn down this smelly old original building, and put up instead some
nice, ventilated modern cottages? I cannot contemplate that wonderful
institution at Hastings without being filled with envy. It would be some
fun to run an asylum if you had a plant like that to work with. But,
anyway, when you get back to New York and are ready to consult the
architect about remodeling, please apply to me for suggestions. Among
other little details I want two hundred feet of sleeping porch running
along the outside of our dormitories.

You see, it's this way: our physical examination reveals the fact that
about half of our children are aenemic--aneamic--anaemic (Mercy! what
a word!), and a lot of them have tubercular ancestors, and more have
alcoholic. Their first need is oxygen rather than education. And if the
sickly ones need it, why wouldn't it be good for the well ones? I should
like to have every child, winter and summer, sleeping in the open air;
but I know that if I let fall such a bomb on the board of trustees, the
whole body would explode.

Speaking of trustees, I have met up with the Hon. Cyrus Wykoff, and
I really believe that I dislike him more than Dr. Robin MacRae or
the kindergarten teacher or the cook. I seem to have a genius for
discovering enemies!

Mr. Wykoff called on Wednesday last to look over the new superintendent.

Having lowered himself into my most comfortable armchair, he proceeded
to spend the day. He asked my father's business, and whether or not he
was well-to-do. I told him that my father manufactured