"Yes, indeed, if Uncle Calvin"—
"Oh, leave Uncle Calvin to me. His dry bones are about to be vitalized."
CHAPTER XXXII
A SOFTENED BLOW
The scanty sunshine of another New England winter had fallen on the ink stains in the offices of Calvin Trent, and spring had come again.
Brave little green twigs approached the window and looked curiously in at the occupants of the two neighboring desks, and the younger man sometimes returned their challenging with speculative and not unhappy eyes.
One morning in early June John found in the mail a letter for Judge Trent, which he passed across to the other desk, unopened.
"'M, h'm," commented the judge, taking it, "another hymn of praise from Sylvia, I suppose."
He regarded the envelope meditatively. "That girl has worked well, Dunham."