'To the Editor of the Times', said Nan, laughing at her sister's instantaneous dismay.
'The Times? Are you going to turn a blue-stocking, Nan?'
'Oh no; it's only about blankets. You can read the letter; do you think he will print it?'
This was the letter which Madge read, and which was written in a sort of handwriting that some editors would be glad to see oftener:—
'Dear Sir—The Government interfere to punish a milkman who adulterates milk with water; and I wish to put the question in your columns why they should not also punish the manufacturers who dress blankets with arsenic? Surely it is a matter of equal importance. Poor people can get along without milk, unless there are very small children in the house; but when they have insufficient food, and insufficient fire, and scant clothes, and perhaps also a leaky roof, a good warm pair of blankets is almost a necessity. You cannot imagine what a compensation it is, especially in weather like the present; but how are the charitably disposed to take such a gift to a poor household when it may become the instrument of death or serious illness? Dear Sir, I hope you will call upon the Government to put down this wicked practice; and I am, yours respectfully, AN ENGLISH GIRL.'
'Oh, that's all right,' said Madge, who had feared that her sister had taken to literature; 'that's quite the right thing for you. Of course, a clergyman's wife must know all about blankets, and soup-kitchens, and things.'
Nan flushed a little, and said quickly and with an embarrassed smile—
'I thought of putting in something about his "eloquent pen" or his "generous advocacy," but I suppose he gets a great deal of that kind of flattery, and isn't to be taken in. I think I will leave it as it is. It is really most shameful that such things should be allowed.'
'When are you coming down to see Frank?'
'By and by, dear. I am going now to get mamma her egg and port wine.'