“Jest' cause Sam's postmaster,” observed Perez, “it don't foller that he reads the name on every letter that goes out and remembers 'em besides.” “Well, if he don't,” said Captain Jerry decidedly, “Mary Emma does. She reads everything, postals and all.” Miss Mary Emma Cahoon was the assistant at the post-office, and was possessed of a well-developed curiosity concerning other people's correspondence. “Humph!” exclaimed Captain Eri, “that's so. We'll write the letter, and I'll ask Mary Emma for the address when I go up to mail it.” So Captain Perez went upstairs to take Mrs Snow's place as nurse, while that lady “turned in.” Captain Jerry went into the kitchen to wash the dishes, and Captain Eri sat down to write the note that should inform Elizabeth Preston of her grandfather's illness. It was a very short note, and merely stated the fact without further information. Having had some experience in that line, the Captain placed very little reliance upon the help to be expected from relatives. Dr. Palmer had spread the news as he went upon his round of visits that morning, and callers began to drop in to inquire after the sick man. Miss Busteed was one of the first arrivals, and, as Captain Eri had seen her through the window, he went upstairs and took Perez' place as temporary nurse. To Perez, therefore, fell the delightful task of entertaining the voluble female for something like an hour, while she talked fire, paralysis, and general gossip at express speed. Ralph Hazeltine came in a little later, and was introduced to Mrs. Snow, that lady's nap having been but a short one. Ralph was favorably impressed with the capable appearance of the new nurse, and so expressed himself to Captain Eri as they walked together toward the post-office. “I like her,” he said emphatically. “She's quiet and sensible and cheerful besides. She looks as if trouble didn't trouble her very much.” “I jedge she's seen enough of it in her time, too,” observed the Captain reflectively. “Queer thing how trouble acts different on folks. Kind of like hot weather, sours milk, but sweetens apples. She's one of the sweetened kind. And yet, I cal'late she can be pretty sharp, too, if you try to tread on her toes. Sort of a sweet pickle, hey?” and he laughed. Miss Cahoon remembered the Preston girl's address. It was Cambridge, Kirkland Street, but the number, she did declare, had skipped her mind. The Captain said he would chance it without the number, so the letter was posted. Then, with the electrician, he strolled over to inspect the remains of the billiard saloon. There was a small crowd gathered about the building, prominent among its members being the “train committee,” who were evidently holding a special session on this momentous occasion. The busy “Squealer,” a trifle enlivened by some of Mr. Saunders' wet goods that had escaped the efforts of the volunteer salvage corps, hailed the new arrivals as brother heroes.