t did mention and enumerate
everything that had occurred in her life which bore the slightest
resemblance to a blessing.

Her letter continued:

"My sisters Doris and Catharine have gone into vaudeville
with a very pretty act called 'April Rain.'

"That they had decided to do this and had been rehearsing it
came as a complete surprise to me. Genevieve Hunting is also
in it, and a man named Max Klepper who wrote the piece
including lyrics and music.

"They opened at the Old Dominion Theatre, remained there a
week, and then started West. Which makes it a trifle lonely
for me; but I don't really mind if they only keep well and
are successful and happy in their venture. Their idea and
their desire, of course, is to return to New York at the
earliest opportunity. But nobody seems to have any idea how
soon that may happen. Meanwhile the weather is cooler and
Hafiz remains well and adorable.

"I have been out very little except to look for a position.
Mr. Wahlbaum is dead and I left the store. Sunday morning I
took a few flowers to Mr. Wahlbaum's grave. He was very kind
to me, Clive. In the afternoon I took a train to the Spring
Pond Cemetery. Father's and mother's graves had been well
cared for and were smoothly green. The four young oak trees I
planted are growing nicely. Mother was fond of trees. I am
sure she likes my little oaks.

"It was a beautiful, cool, sunny day; and after I left the
Cemetery I walked along the well remembered road toward
Spring Pond. It is not very far, but I had never been any
nearer to it than the Cemetery since my sisters and I went
away.

"Such odd sensations came over me as I walked alone there
amid familiar scenes: and, curiously, everything seemed to
have shrunk to miniature size--houses, fields, distances all
seemed much less impressive. But the Bay was intensely blue;
the grasses and reeds in the salt meadows were already tipped
with a golden colour here and there; flocks of purple grackle
and red-winged blackbirds rose, drifted, and settled,
chattering and squealing among the cat-tails just as they
used to do when I was a child; and the big, slow-sailing
mouse-hawks drifted and glided over the pastures, and when
they tipped sideways I could see the white moon-spot on their
backs, just as I remembered to look for it when I was a
little, little girl.

"And