When the war was over, Christabel went back to her writing. While she was at work on her whimsical romance, O Fair Dove, Uncle Johnnie had heard her say—not to himself, "It will be ignored and hated."
"Oh no! Why, I'm sure it will be a great success!" a voice had answered, whose voice he didn't remember, for Eliza's drawing room had been full that afternoon, and Mrs. Russell had distracted his attention by talking to him.
"I've tried bone-meal around the roots, and I've tried soot" Mrs. Russell said, and through her voice Christabel's voice had replied:
"I write for the few—I can say this to you, because I do feel that you are an understanding person—and if there is even one who hears what I'm saying, that will be all I ask."
I hear what you're saying, thought Uncle Johnnie. "—whale-oil soap," said Mrs. Rus-
