that you should leave Barnegat, and he promised to
write to me, and he has. Here's his letter. He says
he is getting too old to continue his practice alone,
that his assistant has fallen ill, and that if you will
come to him at once he will take you into partnership
and give you half his practice. I always knew something
good would come out of my last visit to Philadelphia.
Aren't you delighted, my son?"

"Yes, perfectly overjoyed," answered the doctor,
laughing. He was more than delighted--brimming
over with happiness, in fact--but not over his
mother's news; it was the letter held tight in his
grasp that was sending electric thrills through him.
"A fine old fellow is Dr. Pencoyd--known him for
years," he continued; "I attended his lectures before
I went abroad. Lives in a musty old house on Chestnut
Street, stuffed full of family portraits and old
mahogany furniture, and not a comfortable chair
or sofa in the place; wears yellow Nankeen waist-
coats, takes snuff, and carries a fob. Oh, yes, same
old fellow. Very kind of him, mother, but wouldn't
you rather have the sunlight dance in upon you as it
does here and catch a glimpse of the sea through
the window than to look across at your neighbors'
back walls and white marble steps?" It was across
that same sea that Jane was coming, and the sunshine
would come with her!

"Yes; but, John, surely you are not going to refuse