"What have you been doing, Major Garnet?"
"Why, John, we've outrun your intended efforts and—partly by mail, partly by telegraph—the news only came this morning—we've found Sister March a publisher."
"Why, Major Garnet!" whispered John, with girlish tenderness. Tears sprang to his eyes.
"They're a new house, just starting," continued Garnet, "but they'll print the poems at once."
"In Boston or New York?" interrupted John.
"Pittsburg."
"But how did they decide, Major, without seeing the poems?"
"They didn't; Sister March loaned me some of her duplicates."
"I hope you got good terms, did you?"
"Excellent. Thirty-three and a third per cent. royalty after the first five thousand. Why, John, Dixie alone will want that many."