“Therefore, dear Mrs. Potiphar, as your faith is so pure and childlike, and as I observe that the light from the yellow panes usually falls across your pew, I would advise that you cymbalize your faith (wouldn’t that be noisy in church?) by binding your prayer-book in pale blue; the color of skim-milk, dear Mrs. Potiphar, which is so full of pastoral associations.” Why did he emphasize the word “pastoral?” Do you wonder that I like Cream Cheese, dear Caroline, when he is so gentle and religious--and such a pretty religion too! For he is not only well-dressed, and has such aristocratic hands and feet, in the parlor, but he is so perfectly gentlemanly in the pulpit. He never raises his voice too loud, and he has such wavy gestures. Mr. Potiphar says that may be all very true, but he knows perfectly well that he has a hankering for artificial flowers, and that, for his part, he prefers the Doctor to any preacher he ever heard “because,” he says, “I can go quietly to sleep, confident that he will say nothing that might not be preached from every well-regulated pulpit; whereas, if we should let Cream Cheese into the desk, I should have to keep awake to be on the look-out for some of these new-fangled idolatries: and, Polly Potiphar, I, for one, am determined to have nothing to do with the Scarlet Woman.” Darling Caroline--I don’t care much--but did he ever have anything to do with a Scarlet Woman? After he said that about artificial flowers, I ordered from Martelle the sweetest sprig of _immortelle_ he had in his shop, and sent it anonymously on St. Valentine’s day. Of course I didn’t wish to do anything secret from my husband, that might make people talk, so I wrote--“Rev. Cream Cheese; from his grateful _Skim-milk._” I marked the last words, and hope he understood that I meant to express my thanks for his advice about the pale-blue cover. You don’t think it was too romantice, do you, dear?