deplored the unbecoming coiffure that prevails among our girls.

To prove my point, I had in Sadie Kate, my special errand
orphan. Her hair is strained back as tightly as though it had
been done with a monkey wrench, and is braided behind into two
wiry little pigtails. Decidedly, orphans' ears need to be
softened. But Dr. Robin MacRae doesn't give a hang whether their
ears are becoming or not; what he cares about is their stomachs.
We also split upon the subject of red petticoats. I don't see
how any little girl can preserve any self-respect when dressed in
a red flannel petticoat an irregular inch longer than her blue
checked gingham dress; but he thinks that red petticoats are
cheerful and warm and hygienic. I foresee a warlike reign for
the new superintendent.

In regard to the doctor, there is just one detail to be
thankful for: he is almost as new as I am, and he cannot instruct
me in the traditions of the asylum. I don't believe I COULD have
worked with the old doctor, who, judging from the specimens of
his art that he left behind, knew as much about babies as a
veterinary surgeon.

In the matter of asylum etiquette, the entire staff has
undertaken my education. Even the cook this morning told me
firmly that the John Grier Home has corn meal mush on Wednesday
nights.

Are you searching hard for another superintendent? I'll stay
until she comes, but please find her fast.