ceived; now I make no
surmises about you, but ask, fairly and squarely, shall I call you Mr.,
Miss, or Mrs. 'C'?"

"Call me neither. Call me plain 'C', or picture, if you like, in place
of your sounder, a blonde, fairy-like girl talking to you, with pensive
cheeks and sunny--"

"Don't you believe a word of it!"--some one on the wire here broke in,
wishing, probably, to have a finger in the pie; "picture a hippopotamus,
an elephant, but picture no fairy!"

"Judge not others by yourself, and learn to speak when spoken to!" "C"
replied to the unknown; then "To N.--You know the more mystery there is
about anything, the more interesting it becomes. Therefore, if I envelop
myself in all the mystery possible, I will cherish hopes that you may
dream of me!"

"But I am quite sure you can, with propriety be called _Mr._ 'C '--plain,
as you say, I doubt not," replied Nattie. "Now, as it is time for me to
go home, I shall have to say good-night."

"To be continued in our next?" queried "C."

"If you are not in a cross mood," replied Nattie.

"Now that is a very unkind suggestion, after my abject apology. But,
although our acquaintance had a _grave re-hearse_-al, I trust it will have
a happy ending!"

Nattie frowned.

"If you will promise never to say '_grave_,' '_hearse,_' or anything in the
undertaking line, I will agree never to say 'cross!'" she said.

"The _undertaking_ will not be difficult; with all my heart!" "C"
answered, and with this mutual understanding they bade each other
"good-night."

"There certainly is something romantic in talking to a mysterious
person, unseen, and miles away!" thought Nattie, as she put on her hat.
"But I would really like to know whether my new friend employs a tailor
or a dressmaker!".

Was Nattie conscious of a feeling that it would add to the zest of the
romantic acquaintance should the distant "C" be entitled to the use of
the masculine pronoun?

Perhaps so! For Nattie was human, and was only nineteen!

CHAPTER II.

AT THE HOTEL NORMAN.

Miss Nattie Rogers, telegraph operator, lived, as it were, in two
worlds. The one her office, dingy and curtailed as to proportions, but
from whence she could wander away through the medium of that slender
telegraph wire, on a sort of electric wings, to distant cities and
towns; where, although alone all day, she did not lack social
intercourse, and where she could amuse herself if she chose, by
listening to and speculating