"John!" gasped the old man, getting to his feet and reaching his hand across the table, "you've got plenty of sense if you do wear a mustache! God bless you, my boy; there ain't no better woman here, nor in New York, nor anywhere, than Huldah. God bless you both! I was afraid you'd take a different road, though." "Hurrah for our Huldah and our John!" said George Harlow, the college boy, and his brothers joined him. Even the little Holmes children hurrahed. * * * * * Here the judge stopped. "Well," said Irene, "I don't think it _was_ very nice in him to marry the 'help.' Do you, father?" "Indeed I _do_," said the judge, with emphasis. "Did she ever come to understand Emerson?" asked Anna, who detested the Concord philosopher because she could not understand him. "Indeed I don't know," said the judge; "you can ask Huldah herself." "Who? what? You don't mean that mother is Huldah?" It was a cry in concert. "Mother" was a little red in the face behind the copy of Whittier she was affecting to read. _1870._ THE NEW CASHIER. My friend Macartney-Smith has working theories for everything. He illustrated one of these the other day by relating something that happened in the Giralda apartment house, where he lives in a suite overlooking Central Park. I do not remember whether he was expounding his notion that the apartment house has solved the question of co-operative housekeeping, or whether he was engaged in demonstrating certain propositions regarding the influence of the city on the country. Since I have forgotten what it was intended to prove, the incident has seemed more interesting. It is bad for a story to medicate it with a theory. However, here are the facts as Macartney-Smith relates them with his Q.E.D. omitted. * * * * * I do not know [he began] by what accident or on what recommendation the manager of the Giralda brought a girl from Iowa to act as clerk and cashier in the restaurant.