"And our friends--how are they?"

"You should see Jefferson Davis Farnum Miller. He's two months old
and as fat as a dumpling."

"I've seen him. He's a credit to his godfather."

"Isn't he? That's one happy family."

"I wonder who's to blame for that," she said, the star flash in
her eyes.

"Nellie told you?"

"She told me."

"They exaggerate. Nobody could have done less than I."

"Or more." She did not dwell upon the subject. "Tell me about Mr.
Marchant."

He went over for her the story of the little poet's gentle death.
She listened till he made an end.

"Then it was not hard for him?"

"No. He had one of his good, eager days, then guietly fell
asleep."

"And passed to where, beyond these voices, there is rest and