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“‘I’ll make bond with my daddy-in-law on it,’ I said.

1862 the war went on and the North won some hard fights, though at times there were great loss-es and dark days. The South bore up well, and though crops were poor, and they could not get goods, still they fought as brave-ly as ev-er, and felt that they should at last win. In Vir-gin-ia, the foe had some grand men to lead them, and for a time it seemed as if they must win.

piano and over her home mail, which, until lately, she had rather neglected. And she did not complain of the increasing heat, nor of the compulsory imprisonment indoors during the long days. She had plenty of resources within herself, and her high spirits never flagged. Any idea of going to the hills apparently had not occurred to her, and Coventry, whose theory was that as long as she kept her health a wife's place was with her husband, prudently did not suggest it. Not that he would have actually distrusted her away from him, but his peace of mind must have suffered acutely, knowing that she was making friendships and joining in amusements that he could not supervise; for undoubtedly Trixie would enjoy herself without reflection wherever she might be, and then there was always the fear of people talking, which held a kind of nightmare niche in his imagination.

But at the very door he came near running over the chaplain. The sergeant's strange looks made the chaplain seize him by the arm, and then the tall man saw that the little man too was agitated. His mouth was twitching, and he looked quite shaken and nervous.

"They called to him to surrender, taking him to be you.

In addition, Trixie was a person who contemplated the present and the immediate future to the exclusion of retrospection, partly because she was so young and had all her life before her, and again because it was her nature. She neither looked back nor far forward. Yet now a glimmering of what her husband might have suffered in the past disturbed her self-engrossment, and caused her to feel inadequate and humble, possessed with a helpless regret that drove her to an unselfish desire to conceal her own feelings over this question of his absence. Her apparent anxiety that he should accept Mr. Markham's invitation was construed by Coventry to mean that she was more or less unaffected by the prospect of his absence, and, half hurt and half resentful, he said a little captiously:



I am gratefully sensible of the honourable distinction implied in the determination of the Delegates of the Clarendon Press to have my History of Botany translated into the world-wide language of the British Empire. Fourteen years have elapsed since the first appearance of the work in Germany, from fifteen to eighteen years since it was composed,—a period of time usually long enough in our age of rapid progress for a scientific work to become obsolete. But if the preparation of an English translation shows that competent judges do not regard the book as obsolete, I should be inclined to refer this to two causes. First of all, no other work of a similar kind has appeared, as far as I know, since 1875, so that mine may still be considered to be, in spite of its age, the latest history of Botany; secondly, it has been my endeavour to ascertain the historical facts by careful and critical study of the older botanical literature in the original works, at the cost indeed of some years of working-power and of considerable detriment to my health, and facts never lose their value,—a truth which England especially has always recognised.

The chaplain smiled. "It's not the doctors this time, though Heaven knows I fear some of these army surgeons myself."

In reading some of the business letters on file in Trotwood’s the other day I came across a letter and its answer that made me catch my breath. When I reached the P. S. I had the same laugh that you will have—and as a laugh is always worth money, I am passing it on to Trotwood’s readers. The letter is from our friend, F. D. Hoogstraat, Ravenna, Mich., who, after saying many kind things about us and enclosing check for five subscribers to Trotwood’s, ends with the following friendly bit of fun: “I was out your way forty-odd years ago, and I killed as many of you as you did of me, and I feel now that every thing is square and even between us.”

The End




“He is thinking of Frank, and the chance of



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