Would you believe that the time here flies at least as fast as in New
York during Horse-Show week, although one gets to bed earlier. I am
beginning actually to enjoy this place, strange as it may seem. Had it
not been for poor Daddy's accident I should have been the most contented
thing you ever saw. He sends his love and says I've just got to learn
stenography and type-writing so that when he breaks more legs he can
write to you daily. I believe he's forgotten the use of a pen except to
sign checks with. His patience is wonderful, but he calls it being a good
sportsman. I believe there is a great deal in that word.

It is queer that one can make oneself at home in such a little hole, and
find people that are quite absorbing; I mean the natives, as well as the
others. The whole place is asleep by eight or nine, unless there has been
a good catch of fish, when the little houses on the edge of the cove are
full of weary men still ripping away at the cod, that are brought in huge
piles dwindling very fast after they are spread out to dry. Daddy gets
batches of newspapers, by the uncertain mail, but finishes by nine and
requests to be permitted to snore in peace. I write hurriedly for an hour
or two, and finally succumb to the drowsiness you may find reflected in
these pages.

On returning from my visit to Dick Will, Daddy looked at me enquiringly,
as I am his chief source of local news and the dear old man is becoming
nearly as absorbed in Sweetapple Cove as in Wall Street.

"The parson has gone to pay other visits," I told him, "but I couldn't
leave you any longer. He is such a nice little man. He asked if he could
read a chapter from the Bible, and Dick said he would be very glad. When
it was finished the man looked as if he were thinking very hard, and Mr.