e second floor, and one
on the third. She was glad to have some company when the Doctor had to
be out. One of the ladies coloured plates for magazines and illustrated
books. This was done by hand then, and was considered quite artistic
work. We had not printed in colours yet. The ladies were very refined,
and had a small income beside the work.

The Doctor took Margaret out every pleasant afternoon. His practice was
not large enough to work him very severely. In the evening they read or
sang, as she played very nicely now. But she missed the breezy boys and
their doings, and her mother's cheery voice ordering every one about,
and, oh, she missed the little girl who didn't come half often enough.

She began a choice piece of work for her, a silk quilt. No one had gone
insane over crazy work then. This was shapely, decorous diamonds, with
the name of the wearer, or a date, embroidered on each block. The
Morgans had given her pieces from Paris and Venice and Holland, and even
Hong Kong. Some were a hundred and more years old, and were gowns of
quite famous people.

This fall the American Institute Fair was held at Niblo's Garden. There
were many curious things. Both telegraphs had been put up,--House's with
its letter printing, Morse's with its cabalistic signs. How words could
travel through a bit of wire puzzled most people. Uncle Faid went with
them one afternoon.

"No use to tell me," he declared. "The fellow at one end knows just what
the fellow at the other end is going to say. Now if they sent it in a
box, or a letter, it would look reasonable."

"I'll send you a message," said Ben; "you go down at the end, and see if
this doesn't come to you."

He wrote on a slip of paper, and gave it to Uncle Faid, who went to the
other end with a disbelieving shake of the head. And when the receiver
wrote it out, and Uncle Faid compared it, the astonishment was
indescribable.

"There's some jugglery about it," he still insisted. "Stands to reason a
bit of wire can't really know what you say."

Hanny brought home her telegraph message; and when she showed it to Nora
Whitney, the child declared it was like the queer things in some books
her papa had, called hieroglyphics. But Doctor Joe told her a stranger
thing than that. He found the verses in the Psalms that were supposed to
prefigure the telegraph:--

"There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard.

"Their line is gone out through all the