“Well, yes. It is a letter from Dent--you know I’ve let him go down to Washington to get an idea of the place and the men while the session is on--and along with a letter to the paper, pretty good stuff, too, he sends me this personal note. Read it for yourself.” Annie took the letter, and reads steadily along through its neat chirography: “Washington, March 7th. “Dear Fairchild: “I send a letter going into the Silver question from the standpoint of some of the Western men I have talked with. They impress me as being more sincere than sensible on the subject. I think the trip will be of vast service to me--and also, I trust, to the paper. “Last evening, I met for the second time since I have been here, an elderly gentleman from your part of the State, named Beekman. Like myself, he is down here to look around, and get an idea of things. It is the first time, I should judge, that he has been so far away from home, and his comments are extremely droll--often very clever, too. He seems to know you very well, and asked me to remember him kindly to you, and express his congratulations upon your purchase of a controlling interest in the paper. He wanted me to be sure and say to you that while the experiment of electing Ansdell had worked very well--he seems to admire Ansdell greatly--you mustn’t allow that to lead you into the habit of thinking that all bolters are saints and all straight-party men devils. It seems that since he has been here he has encountered some foolish and exceptional Southern Congressman who provoked him by saying ‘_Your_ Government’ and _your_ laws’ instead of using the pronoun and that has made him a great Stalwart again--for the time-being.” Annie looked up from the sheet. “I must say I don’t see anything in all this to particularly disturb anybody. This seems just the harmless sort of letter I should expect your innocuous Mr. Dent to write.” “Read the rest of it,” was Seth’s reply. She went on:-- “By the way, I met your sister-in-law among the guests at a reception the other evening, to which Mr. Ansdell kindly secured me an invitation. Her residence on K street--she gave me the number, which I have somewhere--is said to be one of the most charming homes in Washington. She is very-popular in society here, and I am told that you meet her at every fashionable gathering. She was certainly very pleasant with me, when Mr. Ansdell presented me and explained who I was. She especially asked me if I knew what you had named your baby-girl, but I could not tell her. “_I_ could tell her if she asked _me!_” remarked the young wife, grimly. “The very idea!” “Go on,” said Seth--“or I shall feel that we ought to have named her Proscrastinatia instead of Annie; get to the end of the thing.” Annie got to the end with a single sentence: