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uttered a little cry； and picked up a quaint ivory paper…knife
lying at the bottom of a drawer。
〃It was missing the next day； and never could be found： he must
have mislaid it here。 This is the drawer；〃 said Alice eagerly。
Here was a clew。 But the lower part of the drawer was filled with
old letters； not labelled； yet neatly arranged in files。 Suddenly
he stopped； and said； 〃Put them back； Alice； at once。〃
〃Why？〃
〃Some of these letters are in my father's handwriting。〃
〃The more reason why I should see them；〃 said the girl imperatively。
〃Here； you take part； and I'll take part； and we'll get through
quicker。〃
There was a certain decision and independence in her manner which
he had learned to respect。 He took the letters； and in silence
read them with her。 They were old college letters； so filled with
boyish dreams； ambitions； aspirations； and utopian theories； that I
fear neither of these young people even recognized their parents in
the dead ashes of the past。 They were both grave； until Alice
uttered a little hysterical cry； and dropped her face in her hands。
Joe was instantly beside her。
〃It's nothing； Joe； nothing。 Don't read it； please； please； don't。
It's so funny！ it's so very queer！〃
But Joe had； after a slight； half…playful struggle； taken the
letter from the girl。 Then he read aloud the words written by his
father thirty years ago。
〃I thank you； dear friend； for all you say about my wife and boy。
I thank you for reminding me of our boyish compact。 He will be
ready to fulfil it； I know； if he loves those his father loves；
even if you should marry years later。 I am glad for your sake； for
both our sakes； that it is a boy。 Heaven send you a good wife；
dear Adams； and a daughter； to make my son equally happy。〃
Joe Silsbie looked down； took the half…laughing； half…tearful face
in his hands； kissed her forehead； and； with tears in his grave
eyes； said； 〃Amen！〃
。 。 。 。 。 。
I am inclined to think that this sentiment was echoed heartily by
Mrs。 Rightbody's former acquaintances； when； a year later； Miss
Alice was united to a professional gentleman of honor and renown；
yet who was known to be the son of a convicted horse…thief。 A few
remembered the previous Californian story； and found corroboration
therefor； but a majority believed it a just reward to Miss Alice
for her conduct to Mr。 Marvin； and； as Miss Alice cheerfully
accepted it in that light； I do not see why I may not end my story
with happiness to all concerned。
A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT。
It was the sacred hour of noon at Sammtstadt。 Everybody was at
dinner； and the serious Kellner of 〃Der Wildemann〃 glanced in mild
reproach at Mr。 James Clinch； who； disregarding that fact and the
invitatory table d'hote； stepped into the street。 For Mr。 Clinch
had eaten a late breakfast at Gladbach； was dyspeptic and American；
and； moveover； preoccupied with business。 He was consequently
indignant； on entering the garden…like court and cloister…like
counting…house of 〃Von Becheret； Sons； Uncles； and Cousins；〃 to
find the comptoir deserted even by the porter； and was furious at
the maidservant； who offered the sacred shibboleth 〃Mittagsessen〃
as a reasonable explanation of the solitude。 〃A country；〃 said Mr。
Clinch to himself； 〃that stops business at mid…day to go to dinner；
and employs women…servants to talk to business…men； is played out。〃
He stepped from the silent building into the equally silent
Kronprinzen Strasse。 Not a soul to be seen anywhere。 Rows on rows
of two…storied； gray…stuccoed buildings that might be dwellings； or
might be offices； all showing some traces of feminine taste and
supervision in a flower or a curtain that belied the legended
〃Comptoir；〃 or 〃Direction；〃 over their portals。 Mr。 Clinch thought
of Boston and State Street； of New York and Wall Street； and became
coldly contemptuous。
Yet there was clearly nothing to do but to walk down the formal
rows of chestnuts that lined the broad Strasse； and then walk back
again。 At the corner of the first cross…street he was struck with
the fact that two men who were standing in front of a dwelling…
house appeared to be as inconsistent； and out of proportion to the
silent houses； as were the actors on a stage to the painted canvas
thoroughfares before which they strutted。 Mr。 Clinch usually had
no fancies； had no eye for quaintness； besides； this was not a
quaint nor romantic district； only an entrepot for silks and
velvets； and Mr。 Clinch was here； not as a tourist； but as a
purchaser。 The guidebooks had ignored Sammtstadt； and he was too
good an American to waste time in looking up uncatalogued
curiosities。 Besides； he had been here once before；an entire
day！
One o'clock。 Still a full hour and a half before his friend would
return to business。 What should he do？ The Verein where he had
once been entertained was deserted even by its waiters； the garden；
with its ostentatious out…of…door tables； looked bleak and bare。
Mr。 Clinch was not artistic in his tastes； but even he was quick to
detect the affront put upon Nature by this continental； theatrical
gardening； and turned disgustedly away。 Born near a 〃lake〃 larger
than the German Ocean； he resented a pool of water twenty…five feet
in diameter under that alluring title； and； a frequenter of the
Adirondacks； he could scarce contain himself over a bit of rock…
work twelve feet high。 〃A country；〃 said Mr。 Clinch； 〃that〃 but
here he remembered that he had once seen in a park in his native
city an imitation of the Drachenfels in plaster； on a scale of two
inches to the foot； and checked his speech。
He turned into the principal allee of the town。 There was a long
white building at one end；the Bahnhof： at the other end he
remembered a dye…house。 He had； a year ago； met its hospitable
proprietor： he would call upon him now。
But the same solitude confronted him as he passed the porter's
lodge beside the gateway。 The counting…house； half villa； half
factory； must have convoked its humanity in some out…of…the…way
refectory； for the halls and passages were tenantless。 For the
first time he began to be impressed with a certain foreign
quaintness in the surroundings； he found himself also recalling
something he had read when a boy； about an enchanted palace whose
inhabitants awoke on the arrival of a long…predestined Prince。 To
assure himself of the absolute ridiculousness of this fancy； he
took from his pocket the business…card of its proprietor； a sample
of dye； and recalled his own personality in a letter of credit。
Having dismissed this idea from his mind； he lounged on again
through a rustic lane that might have led to a farmhouse； yet was
still； absurdly enough； a part of the factory gardens。 Crossing a
ditch by a causeway； he presently came to another ditch and another
causeway； and then found himself idly contemplating a massive； ivy…
clad； venerable brick wall。 As a mere wall it might not have
attracted his attention； but it seemed to enter and bury itself at
right angles in the side…wall of a quite modern…looking dwelling。
After satisfying himself