As we drive from the station they'll say:
"'There's the two young ladies from New York who are building the
church.' But if we settle down amongst them they'll think we're only
ordinary villagers instead of the distinguished persons we are. Or,
while our flat is being made ready we could live at one of the big
hotels in the Catskills, and come down as often as we like on the
inclined railway. Indeed, until the weather gets colder, the Catskills
is the place.
'And lo, the Catskills print the distant sky,
And o'er their airy tops the faint clouds driven,
So softly blending that the cheated eye
Forgets or which is earth, or which is heaven.'"
"That ought to carry the day for the Catskills, Kate. What sort of
habitation shall we choose? A big hotel, or a select private boarding
house?"
"Oh, a big hotel, of course-- the biggest there is, whatever its name
may be. One of those whose rates are so high that the proprietor
daren't advertise them, but says in his announcement, 'for terms apply
to the manager.' It must have ample grounds, support an excellent
band, and advertise a renowned cuisine. Your room, at least, should
have a private balcony on which you can place a telescope and watch
the building of your church down below. I, being a humble person in a
subordinate position, should have a balcony also to make up for those
deficiencies."
"Very well, Kate, that's settled.
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