tructed from imagination and desire about her parents during the
years of her separation from them, will not embarrass them a little, now
that she is at home for good.

"By the way, we met in England last spring a young sub-professor, Horace
Bradford, a most unusual young man for nowadays, but of old New England
stock. He was one of Sylvia's literature instructors at Rockcliffe
College, and he joined our party during the month we spent in the
Shakespeare country. It was his first trip, and, I take it, earned by
great self-sacrifice; and his scholarly yet boyish enthusiasm added
hugely to our enjoyment.

"He spoke constantly of his mother. Do you know her? She lives on the old
place, which was a farm of the better class, I take it, his father having
been the local judge, tax collector, and general consulting factotum of
his county. It is at Pine Ridge Centre, which, if I remember rightly, is
not far from your town. I should like you to know him.

"I have only seen Sylvia twice since our return, but she lunches with me
to-morrow. You and she should be fast friends, for she is of your ilk;
and if this happens, I shall not regret the advent of the Whirlpool
Colony in your beloved Oaklands as much as I do now.

"I am really beginning to look forward to my country visit, and am glad
to see that some 'advance season' tops are spinning on the pavement in
front of the house, and a game of marbles is in progress in my front yard
itself, safe from the annoying skirts of passers-by. For you should know,
dear Madam Pan, that marbles and tops are the city's first spring sign.

"By the way, I am sure that Horace Bradford and Sylvia are keeping up a
literary correspondence. They are perfectly suited to each other for any
and every grade of friendship, yet from her family standpoint no one
could be more unwelcome. He has no social backing; his mother is a
religious little country woman, who doubtless says 'riz' and 'reckon,'
and he only has what he can earn by mental effort. But this is neither
here nor there, and I'm sure you and I will have an interesting summer
croon in spite of your qualms and resentment of the moneyed
invasion.--Not another word, Lucy is waiting to take this to the
post-box.

"Yours faithfully,

"LAVINIA DORMAN.

"P. S.--Josephus has just come back! Lean, and singed by hot ashes, I
judge. I dread the shock to him when he knows about the yard!"

III

MARTIN CORTRIGHT'S LETTERS TO BARBARA AND DOCTOR