there we would leave him, well-nourished and asleep. (By the time that
story had been passed around by enough people in the home town, it
developed that one day the baby--just seven months old, remember--got up
and turned on the water, and was found by the chambermaid sinking for
the third time.)

Something happened to the draft from the home bank, which should have
reached Boston almost at the same time we did. We gazed into the family
pocket-book one fine morning, to find it, to all intents and purposes,
empty. Hurried meeting of the finance committee. By unanimous consent of
all present, we decided--as many another mortal in a strange town has
decided--on the pawnshop. I wonder if my dear grandmother will read
this--she probably will. Carl first submitted his gold watch--the baby
had dropped it once, and it had shrunk thereby in the eyes of the
pawnshop man, though not in ours. The only other valuable we had along
with us was my grandmother's wedding present to me, which had been my
grandfather's wedding present to her--a glorious old-fashioned
breast-pin. We were allowed fifty dollars on it, which saved the day.
What will my grandmother say when she knows that her bridal gift resided
for some days in a Boston pawnshop?

We moved out to Cambridge in due time, and settled at Bromley Court, on
the very edge of the Yard. We thrilled to all of it--we drank in every
ounce of dignity and tradition the place afforded, and our wild Western
souls exulted. We knew no one when we reached Boston, but our first
Sunday we were invited to dinner in Cambridge by two people who were,
ever after, our cordial, faithful friends--Mr. and Mrs. John Graham
Brooks. They made us feel at once that Cambridge was not the socially
icy place it is painted in song and story. Then I remember the afternoon
that I had a week's wash strung on an improvised line back and forth