The　men　were　artists；　and　the　little　ones　were　children　of　another　artist；　dead　three　weeks　ago。　　They　had　brought　the　mites　to　us　because　they　thought　〃John　Grier〃　sounded　solid　and　respectable；　and　not　like　a　public　institution。　　It　had　never　entered　their　unbusinesslike　heads　that　any　formality　is　necessary　about　placing　a　child　in　an　asylum。
  I　explained　that　we　were　full；　but　they　seemed　so　stranded　and　aghast；　that　I　told　them　to　sit　down　while　I　advised　them　what　to　do。　　So　the　chicks　were　sent　to　the　nursery；　with　a　recommendation　of　bread　and　milk；　while　I　listened　to　their　history。　　Those　artists　had　a　fatally　literary　touch；　or　maybe　it　was　just　the　sound　of　the　baby　girl's　laugh；　but；　anyway；　before　they　had　finished；　the　babes　were　ours。
  Never　have　I　seen　a　sunnier　creature　than　the　little　Allegra　（we　don't　often　get　such　fancy　names　or　such　fancy　children）。　　She　is　three　years　old；　is　lisping　funny　baby　talk　and　bubbling　with　laughter。　　The　tragedy　she　has　just　emerged　from　has　never　touched　her。　　But　Don　and　Clifford；　sturdy　little　lads　of　five　and　seven；　are　already　solemn…eyed　and　frightened　at　the　hardness　of　life。
  Their　mother　was　a　kindergarten　teacher　who　married　an　artist　on　a　capital　of　enthusiasm　and　a　few　tubes　of　paint。　　His　friends　say　that　he　had　talent；　but　of　course　he　had　to　throw　it　away　to　pay　the　milkman。　　They　lived　in　a　haphazard　fashion　in　a　rickety　old　studio；　cooking　behind　screens；　the　babies　sleeping　on　shelves。
  But　there　seems　to　have　been　a　very　happy　side　to　ita　great　deal　of　love　and　many　friends；　all　more　or　less　poor；　but　artistic　and　congenial　and　high…thinking。　　The　little　lads；　in　their　gentleness　and　fineness；　show　that　phase　of　their　upbringing。　　They　have　an　air　which　many　of　my　children；　despite　all　the　good　manners　I　can　pour　into　them；　will　forever　lack。
  The　mother　died　in　the　hospital　a　few　days　after　Allegra's　birth；　and　the　father　struggled　on　for　two　years；　caring　for　his　brood　and　painting　like　madadvertisements；　anythingto　keep　a　roof　over　their　heads。
  He　died　in　St。　Vincent's　three　weeks　ago；overwork；　worry；　pneumonia。　　His　friends　rallied　about　the　babies；　sold　such　of　the　studio　fittings　as　had　escaped　pawning；　paid　off　the　debts；　and　looked　about　for　the　best　asylum　they　could　find。　　And；　Heaven　save　them！　they　hit　upon　us！
  Well；　I　kept　the　two　artists　for　luncheon；nice　creatures　in　soft　hats　and　Windsor　ties；　and　looking　pretty　frayed　themselves；and　then　started　them　back　to　New　York　with　the　promise　that　I　would　give　the　little　family　my　most　parental　attention。
  So　here　they　are；　one　little　mite　in　the　nursery；　two　in　the　kindergarten　room；　four　big　packing　cases　full　of　canvases　in　the　cellar；　and　a　trunk　in　the　store　room　with　the　letters　of　their　father　and　mother。　　And　a　look　in　their　faces；　an　intangible　spiritual　SOMETHING；　that　is　their　heritage。
  I　can't　get　them　out　of　my　mind。　　All　night　long　I　was　planning　their　future。　　The　boys　are　easy。　　They　have　already　been　graduated　from　college；　Mr。　Pendleton　assisting；　and　are　pursuing　honorable　business　careers。　　But　Allegra　I　don't　know　about；　I　can't　think　what　to　wish　for　the　child。　　Of　course　the　normal　thing　to　wish　for　any　sweet　little　girl　is　that　two　kind　foster　parents　will　come　along　to　take　the　place　of　the　real　parents　that　Fate　has　robbed　her　of。　　But　in　this　case　it　would　be　cruel　to　steal　her　away　from　her　brothers。　　Their　love　for　the　baby　is　pitiful。　　You　see；　they　have　brought　her　up。　　The　only　time　I　ever　hear　them　laugh　is　when　she　has　done　something　funny。
  The　poor　little　fellows　miss　their　father　horribly。　　I　found　Don；　the　five…year…old　one；　sobbing　in　his　crib　last　night　because　he　couldn't　say　good　night　to　〃daddy。〃
  But　Allegra　is　true　to　her　name；　the　happiest　young　miss　of　three　I　have　ever　seen。　　The　poor　father　managed　well　by　her；　and　she；　little　ingrate；　has　already　forgotten　that　she　has　lost　him。
  Whatever　can　I　do　with　these　little　ones？　　I　think　and　think　and　think　about　them。　　I　can't　place　them　out；　and　it　does　seem　too　awful　to　bring　them　up　here；　for　as　good　as　we　are　going　to　be　when　we　get　ourselves　made　over；　still；　after　all；　we　are　an　institution；　and　our　inmates　are　just　little　incubator　chicks。　　They　don't　get　the　individual；　fussy　care　that　only　an　old　hen　can　give。
  There　is　a　lot　of　interesting　news　that　I　might　have　been　telling　you；　but　my　new　little　family　has　driven　everything　out　of　my　mind。
  Bairns　are　certain　joy；　but　nae　sma'　care。
  Yours　ever；
  SALLIE。　P。S。　　Don't　forget　that　you　are　coming　to　visit　me　next　week。
  P。S。　II。　　The　doctor；　who　is　ordinarily　so　scientific　and　unsentimental；　has　fallen　in　love　with　Allegra。　　He　didn't　so　much　as　glance　at　her　tonsils；　he　simply　picked　her　up　in　his　arms　and　hugged　her。　　Oh；　she　is　a　little　witch！　　Whatever　is　to　become　of　her？
  June　22。　My　dear　Judy：
  I　may　report　that　you　need　no　longer　worry　as　to　our　inadequate　fire　protection。　　The　doctor　and　Mr。　Witherspoon　have　been　giving　the　matter　their　gravest　attention；　and　no　game　yet　devised　has　proved　so　entertaining　and　destructive　as　our　fire　drill。
  The　children　all　retire　to　their　beds　and　plunge　into　alert　slumber。　　Fire　alarm　sounds。　　They　spring　up　and　into　their　shoes；　snatch　the　top　blanket　from　their　beds；　wrap　it　around　their　imaginary　nightclothes；　fall　into　line；　and　trot　to　the　hall　and　stairs。
  Our　seventeen　little　tots　in　the　nursery　are　each　in　charge　of　an　Indian；　and　are　bundled　out；　shrieking　with　delight。　　The　remaining　Indians；　so　long　as　there　is　no　danger　of　the　roof　falling；　devote　themselves　to　salvage。　　On　the　occasion　of　our　first　drill；　Percy　in　command；　the　contents　of　a　dozen　clothes　lockers　were　dumped　into　sheets　and　hurled　out　of　the　windows。　　I　usurped　dictatorship　just　in　time　to　keep　the　pillows　and　mattresses　from　following。　　We　spent　hours　resorting　those　clothes；　while　Percy　and　the　doctor；　having　lost　all　interest　strolled　up　to　the　camp　with　their　pipes。
  Our　future　drills　are　to　be　a　touch　less　realistic。　　However；　I　am　pleased　to　tell　you　that；　under　the　able　direction　of　Fire　Chief　Witherspoon；　we　emptied　the　building　in　six　minutes　and　twenty…eight　seconds。
  That　baby　Allegra　has　fairy　blood　in　her　veins。　　Never　did　this　institution　harbor　such　a　child；　barring　one　that　Jervis　and　I　know　of。　　She　has　completely　subjugated　the　doctor。　　Instead　of　going　about　his　visits　like　a　sober　medical　man；　he　comes　down　to　my　library　hand　in　hand　with　Allegra；　and　for　half　an　hour　at　a　time　crawls　about　on　a　rug；　pretending　he's　a　horse；　while　the　bonnie　wee　lassie　sits　on　his　back　and　kicks。　　You　know；　I　am　thinking　of　putting　a　card　in　the　paper：
  Characters　neatly　remodeled。　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　S。　McBride。
  Sandy　dropped　in　two　nights　ago　to　have　a　bit　of　conversation　with　Betsy　and　me；　and　he　was　FRIVOLOUS。　　He　made　three　jokes；　and　he　sat　down　at　the　piano　and　sang　some　old　Scotch；　〃My　luve's　like　a　red；　red　rose；〃　and　〃Come　under　my　plaidie；〃　and　〃Wha's　at　the　window？　　Wha？　　Wha？〃　not　in　the　least　educational；　and　then　danced　a　few　steps　of　the　strathspey！
  I　sat　and　beamed　upon　my　handiwork；　for　it's　true；　I've　done　it　all　through　my　frivolous　example　and　the　books　I've　given　him　and　the　introducing　of　such　lightsome　companions　as　Jimmie　and　Percy　and　Gordon　Hallock。　　If　I　have　a　few　more　months　in　which　to　work；　I　shall　get　the　man　human。　　He　has　given　up　purple　ties；　and　at　my　tactful　suggestion　has　adopted　a　suit　of　gray。　　You　have　no　idea　how　it　sets　him　off。　　He　will　be　quite　distinguished　looking　as　soon　as　I　can　make　him　stop　carrying　bulgy　things　in　his　pockets。
  Good…by；　and　remember　that　we're　expecting　you　on　Friday。
  SALLIE。
  P。S。　　Here　is　a　picture　of　Allegra；　taken　by　Mr。　Witherspoon。　　Isn't　she　a　love？　　Her　present　clothes　do　not　enhance　her　beauty；　but　in　the　course　of　a　few　weeks　she　will　move　into　a　pink　smocked　frock。
  Wednesday；　June　24；　10　A。M。　MRS。　JERVIS　PENDLETON。
  Madam：
  Your　letter　is　at　hand；　stating　that　you　cannot　visit　me　on　Friday　per　promise；　because　your　husband　has　business　that　keeps　him　in　town。　　What　clishmaclaver　is　this！　　Has　it　come　to　such　a　pass　that　you　can't　leave　him　for　two　days？
  I　did　not　let　113　babies　interfere　with　my　visit　to　you；　and　I　see　no　reason　why　you　should　let　one　husband　interfere　with　your　visit　to　me。　　I　shall　meet　the　Berkshire　express　on　Friday　as　agreed。　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　S。　McBRIDE。
  June　30。　My　dear　Judy：
  That　was　a　very　flying　visit　you　paid　us；　but　for　all　small　favors　we　are　grateful。　　I　am　awfully　pleased　that　you　were　so　delighted　with　the　way　things　are　going；　and　I　can't　wait　for　Jervis　and　the　architect　to　get　up　here　and　really　begin　a　fundamental　ripping…up。
  You　know；　I　had　the　queerest　feeling　all　the　time　that　you　were　here。　　I　can't　make　it　seem　true　that　you；　my　dear；　wonderful　Judy；　were　actually　brought　up　in　this