"Apparently the title is good."
"Oh, yes; but here's something unexpected, and quite as gratifying,—a letter from Caleb. I didn't imagine, till now, how glad I should be to hear from the dear old chap."
"Read it—aloud—at once!" Grace said, clapping her hands in joyous anticipation. "Where does he write from?"
"New York. H'm—here goes.
"'Dear Philip, Hoping you're both well, I write to say that I'm a good deal better, though Niagara nearly knocked me deaf, and New York's about finished the job. If we had water-power like Niagara at Claybanks, it would be the making of the town. I told Miss Truett that I thought the foam on the falls beat any lace in her store, and she thought so too.'"
"Oh, what fun she'll have with Caleb!" Grace exclaimed.
"Probably, as you think so; but who is she?"
"She's the head of one of the departments of the store I was in. I gave Caleb letters to her and some of the other people who would give him information, for my sake, about goods he was to buy for us. Mary Truett is the ablest business woman in the place, and besides, she's as good as gold; not exactly pretty, but wonderfully charming, and as merry as a grig. She's a perfect witch; I'd give anything to see her demure face as she listens to Caleb, and then to hear her 'take him off' after he has gone. But do go on with the letter."
"Where was I? Oh—'New York's noisier than Niagara, and all the noises don't play the same tune, either, but my second day here was Sunday, so I got broke in gradual, for which I hope I was truly grateful. I sampled the different kinds of churches, one of them being Miss Truett's.'"
"She's an Episcopalian," Grace said. "I wonder how Caleb got along with the service."