ese things happen
every day, I am conscious that a clearer understanding of the past, a new
strength for the future, and a fresh outlook on life, come to me, simply
from the fact that he is himself, and that he is here. Jim Airth may not
be a saint; but he is a _man!_

Dear Jane, I should scarcely venture to send you this epistle, were it
not for all the adjectives--"wholesome," "helpful," "understanding,"
etc., which so rightly apply to you. _You_ will not misunderstand. Of
that I have no fear. But do not tell the doctor more than that I am very
well, in excellent spirits, and happier than I have ever been in my
life.

Tell Garth I loved his last song. How often I sing to myself, as I walk
in the sea breeze and sunshine, the hairbells waving round my feet:

"On God's fair earth, 'mid blossoms blue,
Fresh hope must ever spring."

I trust I sing it in tune; but I know I have not much ear.

And how is your little Geoffrey? Has he the beautiful shining eyes, we
all remember? I have often laughed over your account of his sojourn at
Overdene, and of how our dear naughty old duchess stirred him up to rebel
against his nurse. You must have had your hands full when you and Garth
returned from America. Oh, Jane, how different my life would have been if
I had had a little son! Ah, well!

"There is no room for sad despair,
When heaven's love is everywhere."

Tell Garth, I love it; but I wish he wrote simpler accompaniments. That
one beats me!

Yours, dear Jane,
Gratefully and affectionately,
MYRA INGLEBY.

--------------------

_Letter from the Honourable Mrs. Dalmain to Lady Ingleby._

CASTLE GLENEESH, N. B.

MY DEAR MYRA,

No, I have not the smallest objection to representing rice pudding, or
anything else plain and wholesome, providing I agree with you, and
suffice for the need of the moment.

I am indeed glad to have so good a report. It proves Deryck right in his
diagnosis and prescription. Keep to the latter faithfully, in every
detail.

I am much interested in your account of your fellow-guests at the
Moorhead Inn. No, I do not misunderstand your letter; nor do I credit you
with any foolish sentimentality, or Susie-like flutterings. Jim