trustees, and isn't exactly dischargeable. She's a vague,
chinless, pale-eyed creature, who talks through her nose and
breathes through her mouth. She can't say anything decisively
and then stop; her sentences all trail off into incoherent
murmurings. Every time I see the woman I feel an almost
uncontrollable desire to take her by the shoulders and shake some
decision into her. And Miss Snaith is the one who has had entire
supervision of the seventeen little tots aged from two to five!
But, anyway, even if I can't discharge her, I have reduced her to
a subordinate position without her being aware of the fact.

The doctor has found for me a charming girl who lives a few
miles from here and comes in every day to manage the
kindergarten. She has big, gentle, brown eyes, like a cow's, and
motherly manners (she is just nineteen), and the babies love her.

At the head of the nursery I have placed a jolly, comfortable
middle-aged woman who has reared five of her own and has a hand
with bairns. Our doctor also found her. You see, he is useful.
She is technically under Miss Snaith, but is usurping
dictatorship in a satisfactory fashion. I can now sleep at night
without being afraid that my babies are being inefficiently
murdered.

You see, our reforms are getting started; and while I
acquiesce with all the intelligence at my command to our
doctor's basic scientific upheavals, still, they sometimes leave
me cold. The problem that keeps churning and churning in my mind
is: How can I ever instil enough love and warmth and sunshine
into those bleak little lives? And I am not sure that the