"Didn’t I? I shall sleep better to-night, Mrs. Griggs, if the letters are posted. Let me get them off my mind." Reluctantly she gave him the tablet and his fountain-pen. Then she propped him up among his pillows and lighted a reading-lamp at his elbow; the day was dull and his eyesight not of the keenest—his physical eyesight. The spiritual vision reached far and away, quite out of the world altogether. The letters went out. With five of them went five others, appendices in the hand of Mrs. Griggs. At Samuel Kingsley’s breakfast-table, twenty-four hours later, letter and appendix produced their effect. But due credit must certainly be given to the appendix. Mr. Stephen Kingsley’s letter read thus: "_Dear Samuel:_ "I am thinking of having a Christmas house-party. It seems a long time since I have seen the family all together. There are at least three new babies among the children. I am asking everybody to come on the day before Christmas—Wednesday—and remain over at least until Friday. Don’t refuse me. I should write much more, but must send word to all the others, and you know my eyes. "Believe me always "Lovingly your brother, STEPHEN." "Sylvester will be there," was Samuel’s comment. He closed his lips tight as he said it. They were firm-set lips beneath a close-trimmed gray moustache. He squared his broad shoulders. "Sylvester will be there—_and I won’t_!" his keen, brown eyes added. Then he opened the appendix. "_Respected Sir and Friend_," began Mrs. Griggs with dignity, "I take my pen in hand to send you a line in regard to Mr. Stephen’s letter, hoping this finds you well and will reach you by the same mail. I hope you and Mrs. Samuel and the family will come as Mr. Stephen wishes, as he has set his mind on having this party, which I think is too much for him, but he will do it. Mr. Stephen is not as strong as he was. Hoping you will come. Respectfully yours, "SARAH A. GRIGGS." It could hardly be said that Mrs. Griggs’s language possessed to a greater degree than Mr. Kingsley’s the quality of persuasion. But one sentence in her letter, together with the fact that she had considered it a matter which called upon her to take her unaccustomed pen in hand at all, gave weight to the invitation. Mr. Samuel Kingsley handed both letters across the table to his wife, with the curt comment that it was a confounded nuisance, and he didn’t see what had got into Stephen’s head, but he supposed they’d have to consider it.