“Your good letter reached us several days ago, and would have been answered sooner but for the fact that I have been working every evening this week, and some nights haven’t left the office till after nine. It’s a bit hard on that little wife of mine, but I tell her all is grist that comes to our mill, and if things keep on as they have for the past year, it won’t be very long before I can begin to let up a little. Who knows but that we may have our carriage, and our box at the opera, some fine day. Helen laughs when I predict a glorious future, but, joking aside, I have good reason to expect another raise of salary in the spring. My employer, Mr. Anderson, gave me a strong hint to that effect a few days ago. “We laughed heartily over your description of your interesting little neighbors, who have discovered a secret door in the wall. Rather an unusual find in a New York boarding-house, I should think. It reminds me of some of those thrilling tales we used to read in our childhood. I shall expect to hear next of a secret staircase leading to a dungeon, where a captive princess is kept in concealment. I am glad you find the children so entertaining, but I should think you might be rather tired when evening comes, and prefer some other amusement to singing ballads. However, that is your affair, not mine. All I care about is that you don’t work too hard, and wear yourself out. You and Helen will have some fine times over your music, when you make us that long deferred visit, for she is as fond of singing as you are, and I really think you will be pleased with her voice. We have hired a piano, and I generally find her singing away like a nightingale when I come home late of an evening. She says she can’t help it; it’s the way she has of expressing her happiness. As to your namesake, if she doesn’t sing yet, she certainly crows. She is as jolly and healthy as a baby can be, and Helen warns me not to forget to give you the great news, little Polly has cut her first tooth. “Now, my dear little sister, I must ask you to pardon a short letter, for it is after eleven P. M. and Helen is beginning to look severe, as she invariably does when she considers I am not getting my proper allowance of sleep. I am delighted to hear that you are enjoying your piano so much. Have you been to any good concerts lately? How about the season ticket for the opera I requested you to buy, with that small Christmas check? Helen and I indulged in a little dissipation one night last week. She met me in town, and we dined at a restaurant, and went to the theatre. It was a great treat, I assure you, and as ‘our one and only maid’ seems a capable sort of person, Helen was not afraid to leave baby in her care. “Good-night, old girl. Write often, and believe me, as always,