P.S. I called on the Low Down Wilkes this morning. Mrs. L.D.W. was wearing my suit over a wrapper of faded red calico, but there was nothing in her manner to indicate that I had ever seen it before. _Saturday._ Here is my story, Michael Daragh, and it is your story, too, for you shamed me into doing it. I am sending it off to the brown-gowned monthly on the stern and rock-bound coast, and this carbon to you. Now will you write and tell me if you like it? _Honestly!_ (I know I said I didn't want you to write me until I had landed a story there, but all this grief and grimness brings a sense of bleak loneliness, and _if_ you think I've won back what I've lost, if you think I've found the vision which will keep my soul from perishing, tell me so.) J. V. _Sunday Night._ I've been making circus all day, M.D.---- "Tooting joy, tooting hope, Willy wully wah hoo ... I am the golden dream, Singing science, singing steam-- Listen to the lion roar--" I've roared myself hoarse but I got him to sleep at last. I have figured it out and I see that I can't hear from either you or the Monthly before Wednesday at the earliest, and I won't let myself really look for anything before Friday. J. V. Again there came a single line---- _Monday Night._ It's too heart-breaking to write about, M.D., even to you. _Tuesday Morning._ I've had to stop hating the poor old Deacon altogether; this morning he carried S.A.B.B. upstairs with his own hands and put him on the bed beside the boy. J. V. _Tuesday Night._ It's very late, Michael Daragh, but there are things I must tell you before I sleep. I went for a walk this morning, and when I came back I saw Angelique waving to me from the window. I _knew_, and I ran into the house and upstairs. The Deacon was praying aloud, a terrible, cast-iron prayer, and Angelique was sobbing and S.A.B.B. was whining and shivering. I knelt down beside Dan'l and he opened his eyes. I could just make out the whisper--"My ... letter?" I jumped up and ran over to his father and took him by the elbow and marched him into my room and shut the door and stood with my back against it. My teeth were chattering so I could hardly speak. "He's dying," I said. "_Now_ will you let me?" He was shaking, too, but he quavered, "I wunt bear false witness! I wunt take a lie on my soul!"