of his money the year before through the failure of a bank. We knew
that his wealth had all been inherited, and that he would never have
been, in Grandma Cobb's opinion, capable of earning it himself. We
knew that he had obtained, through the influence of friends, a
position in the custom-house, and we knew the precise amount of his
salary. We knew that the Jamesons had been obliged to give up their
palatial apartments in New York and take a humble flat in a less
fashionable part of the city. We knew that they had always spent
their summers at their own place at the seashore, and that this was
the first season of their sojourn in a little country village in a
plain house. We knew how hard a struggle it had been for them to
come here; we knew just how much they paid for their board, how Mrs.
Jameson never wanted anything for breakfast but an egg and a hygienic
biscuit, and had health food in the middle of the forenoon and
afternoon.

We also knew just how old they all were, and how the H. in Mr.
Jameson's name stood for Hiram. We knew that Mrs. Jameson had never
liked the name--might, in fact, have refused to marry on that score
had not Grandma Cobb reasoned with her and told her that he was a
worthy man with money, and she not as young as she had been; and how
she compromised by always using the abbreviation, both in writing and
speaking. "She always calls him H," said Grandma Cobb, "and I tell
her sometimes it doesn't look quite respectful to speak to her
husband as if he were part of the alphabet." Grandma Cobb, if the
truth had been told, was always in a state of covert rebellion
against her daughter.

Grandma Cobb was always dressed in a black silk gown which seemed
sumptuous to the women of our village. They could scarcely reconcile