_“They are really delicious —when properly treated. ”_

 How To Cook Husbands

 By ELIZABETH STRONG WORTHINGTON

 Author of “The Little Brown Dog” “The Biddy Club”

 Published at 220 East 23rd St. , New York by the Dodge Publishing Company

 COPYRIGHT IN THE YEAR EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND NINETY-EIGHT BY DODGE STATIONERY COMPANY

 Dedication

 To a dear little girl who will some day, I hope, be skilled in all branches of matrimonial cookery. 

 I

A while ago I came across a newspaper clipping—a recipe written by aBaltimore lady—that had long lain dormant in my desk. It ran as follows:

“A great many husbands are spoiled by mismanagement. Some women go aboutit as if their husbands were bladders, and blow them up; others keepthem constantly in hot water; others let them freeze, by theircarelessness and indifference. Some keep them in a stew, by irritatingways and words; others roast them; some keep them in pickle all theirlives. Now it is not to be supposed that any husband will be good, managed in this way—turnips wouldn’t; onions wouldn’t; cabbage-headswouldn’t, and husbands won’t; but they are really delicious whenproperly treated. 

“In selecting your husband you should not be guided by the silveryappearance, as in buying mackerel, or by the golden tint, as if youwanted salmon. Be sure to select him yourself, as taste differs. And bythe way, don’t go to market for him, as the best are always brought toyour door. 

“It is far better to have none, unless you patiently learn to cook him. A preserving kettle of the finest porcelain is the best, but if you havenothing but an earthenware pipkin, it will do, with care. 

“See that the linen, in which you wrap him, is nicely washed and mended, with the required amount of buttons and strings, nicely sewed on. Tiehim in the kettle with a strong cord called Comfort, as the one calledDuty is apt to be weak. They sometimes fly out of the kettle, and becomeburned and crusty on the edges, since, like crabs and oysters, you haveto cook them alive. 

“Make a clear, strong, steady fire out of Love, Neatness, andCheerfulness. Set him as near this as seems to agree with him. If hesputters and fizzles, don’t be anxious; some husbands do this till theyare quite done. Add a little sugar, in the form of what confectionerscall Kisses, but no vinegar or pepper on any account. A little spiceimproves them, but it must be used with judgment. 

“Don’t stick any sharp instrument into him, to see if he is becomingtender. Stir him gently; watching the while lest he should lie too closeto the kettle, and so become inert and useless. 

“You cannot fail to know when he is done. If thus treated, you will findhim very digestible, agreeing nicely with you and the children. ”

“So they are better cooked, ” I said to myself, “that is why we hear ofsuch numbers of cases of marital indigestion—the husbands are servedraw—fresh—unprepared. ”

“They are really delicious when properly treated, ”—I wonder if that isso. 

But I must pause here to tell you a bit about myself. I am not an oldmaid, but, at the time this occurs, I am unmarried, and I am thirty-fouryears old—not quite beyond the pale of hope. Men and women never do passbeyond that—not those of sanguine temperament at any rate. I am neitherrich nor poor, but repose in a comfortable stratum betwixt and between. I keep house, or rather it keeps me, and a respectable woman who, withher husband, manages my domestic affairs, lends the odor of sanctity andpropriety to my single existence. I am of medium height, between blondand brunette, and am said to have a modicum of both brains and goodlooks. 

The recipe I read set me a-thinking. I was in my library, before a biglog fire. The room was comfortable; glowing with rich, warm firelightat that moment, but it was lonesome, and I was lonely. 

Supposing, I said to myself, I really had a husband; how should I cookhim?

The words of an old lady came into my mind. She had listened to thisparticular recipe, and after a moment’s silence had leaned over, andwhispered in my ear:

“First catch your fish. ”

But supposing he were now caught, and seated in that rocker across fromme, before this blazing fire. 

I walked to the window—to one side of me lives a little thrush, at leastshe is trim and comely, and always dresses in brown. Just now she iswithout her door, stooping over her baby, who is sitting like a tinyqueen in her chariot, just returned from an airing. 

It isn’t the question of husband alone—he might be managed—roasted, stewed, or parboiled, but it’s the whole family—a household. Take thechildren, for instance; if they could be set up on shelves in glasscases, as fast as they came, all might be well, but they _will_ runaround, and Heaven only knows what they will run into. Why, had Ichildren, I should plug both ears with cotton, for fear I should hearthe door-bell. I know it would ring constantly, and such messages asthese would be hurled in:

“Several of them have been arrested for blowing up the neighbors withdynamite firecrackers. ”

“Half a dozen of them have tumbled from off the roof of the house. Theyescaped injury, but have thrown a nervous lady, over the way, intospasms. ”

“One or two of them have just been dragged from beneath the electriccars. They seem to be as well as ever, but three of the passengers diedof fright. ”

Just think of that! What should I do?

Keep an extra maid to answer the bell, I suppose, and two or threethousand dollars by me continually, to pay damages. 

What a time poor Job had of it answering his door bell, and how veryunpleasant it must have been to receive so many pieces of news of thatsort, in one morning!

Clearly I am better off in my childless condition, and yet——

Little Mrs. Thrush is just kissing her soft, round-faced cherub. I wishshe would do that out of sight. 

Now as to husbands again, if I had one, what should I do with him?

I might say, Sit down. 

Supposing he wouldn’t. What then?

Cudgels are out of date. Were he an alderman, I might take a Woman’sClub to him, but a husband has been known to laugh this instrument toscorn. 

But supposing he sat down. What then? He might be a gentleman ofirascible, nasty temper, and in walking about my room, I might step onhis feet. These irritable folk have such large feet, at least they arealways in the way, and always being stepped on no matter how careful onetries to be. 

What then?

I decline to contemplate the scene. 

Plainly I am better off single. 

I walk to my front window, and stretch my arms above my head. There is alight fall of snow upon the ground. This late snow is trying: in itsseason, it is beautiful; but out of season, it breeds a cheerlessnessthat emphasises one’s loneliness. I look out through the leafless treestoward the lake, but it is hidden by the whirling, eddying snowflakes. Isee Mr. Thrush hurrying home to his little nest. 

“Yes, ” I say to myself, repeating my last thought with a certainobstinacy, “yes, I am better off without a husband, and yet I wish I hadone—one would answer, on a pinch—one at a time, at least. A husband islike a world in that respect; one at a time, is the proper proportion. ”

“It’s far better to have none, unless you learn to cook him. ” Thesewords recurred to me, just as I was on the point of taking a lifepartner, in a figurative sense. 

The woman that deliberates is lost; consequently, as it won’t do tothink the matter over, I plunge in. 

My spouse is now pacing up and down the room in a rampant manner, complaining of his dinner, the world in general, and _me_ in particular. 

What am I to do?

Charles Reade has written a recipe that applies very well just here. Itis briefly expressed:

“Put yourself in his place. ”

I could not have done this a few years ago, but now I can. Never, untilI undertook the management of my business affairs—never until I had someknowledge of business cares and anxieties, the weight of notes fallingdue; the charge of business honor to keep; the excited hope of fortunateprospects; and the depression following hard upon failure anddisappointment—never until I learned all this, did I realize what homeshould mean to a man, and how far wide of the mark many women shoot, when they aim to establish a restful retreat for their husbands. 

I have returned to my domicile, after a fatiguing day up town, with afeeling of exhaustion that lies far deeper than the mere physicalstructure—a spent feeling as if I have given my all, and must bereplenished before I can make another move. I once had a housekeeperwhose very face I dreaded at such times. She always took advantage of mysilence and my limp condition, to relate the day’s disasters. She had noknowledge of what a good dinner meant, and no tact in falling in with mytastes or needs. On the contrary; if there was a dish I disliked, it wassure to appear on those most weary evenings. In brief, from the verymoment I reached home, she did nothing but brush my fur up, instead ofdown, and I did nothing but spit at her. 

Now, many women are like this housekeeper. I wonder their husbands don’tslay them. If you would look out in my back yard, I fear you would seethe bones of several of these tactless, exasperating housekeepers, bleaching in the wind and rain. 

I marvel that other back yards are not filled with the bones of stupid, tactless, irritating wives. The fact that no such horror has as yet beenunearthed, bears eloquent testimony to the noble self-control andpatience of many of the sterner sex. 

“Oh, that sounds well, ” said my neighbor, over the way, “but then youforget we women have our trials too. ”

“Is it going to diminish those trials to make a raging lion out of yourhusband?”

“No, but he ought to understand that we are tired, and that our work ishard. ”

“Certainly, ” I said, “by all means; and by the time he thoroughlyunderstands, you generally have occasion to be still more tired. ”

“Well, what would you do?”

“I’ll tell you what I’d do; follow the advice of a sensible littlefriend of mine, who has four children all of an age, and hasincompetent service to rely on, when she has any at all. ”

“And what is that, pray?”

“She says that come rain, hail, or fiery vapor, she takes a nap everyday. ”

“I don’t know how she manages it; I can’t, and I have one less childthan she, and a fairly good maid. ”

“Her children are trained, as children should be; the three younger onestake long naps after luncheon, and while they are sleeping, she givesthe oldest child some picture book to look at, and simple stories toread, and she herself goes to sleep in the same room with him. Thelittle fellow keeps as still as a mouse. ”

“I think that is a cruel shame. ”

“So do I. It would be far kinder if she let him have his liberty, andstayed up to take care of him, and then became so tired out that, by thetime her husband came home she would be unable to keep her mouth (closedfor it is only a well rested woman who can maintain a cheerfulsilence), and avoid a family quarrel. ”

“No, I think it’s better not to quarrel, but I can’t take a nap, andoften I’m so tired when Fred comes home, that, if he happens to be tiredtoo, it’s just like putting fire to gunpowder. ”

I knew that, for I had heard the explosions from across the street. Youknow in our climate, in the summer, people practically live in thestreet, with every window and door open; your neighbor has fullpossession of all remarks above E. And most of Mr. And Mrs. Purblind’snotes on the tired nights, are above E. 

I have no patience with that woman, anyhow. She hasn’t the first idea ofcomfort and good cheer. Her rooms are always in disorder, and there isno suggestion of harmony in the furniture (on the contrary every articleseems, as the French say, to be swearing at every other article); allher lights are high—why, I’ve run in there of an evening and found thatman wandering around like an uneasy ghost, trying to find some easyspot in which he could sit down, and read his paper comfortably. Hedidn’t know what was the matter—the poor wretches don’t, but he was likea cat on an unswept hearth. 

In contrast to this woman’s stupidity, I have the natural loveliness ofthe little brown thrush, on my one side, and the hoary-headed wisdom ofMrs. Owl, on my other side. 

Look at the latter a moment. Not worth looking at, you say; angular, without beauty of form or feature. Nothing but the humorous curve to herlips, and the twinkle in her eye, to attract one; nothing, unless itwere a general air of neatness, intelligence, and good humor. 

But I assure you that woman’s worth living with if she is not worthlooking at!

Now her spouse is one of those lowering fellows, the kind that seems tobe at outs with mankind. Just the material to become sulky in any butthe most skillful hands, the sort to degenerate into a positive brute, in such blundering hands as Mrs. Purblind’s over the way. 

I had a chance to watch this man one evening last summer. Having nodomestic affairs of my own, as a matter of course I feel myself entitledto share my neighbors’. And this particular evening I was lonely. It wasa nasty night, the fog blown in from the lake slapped one rudely in theface every time one looked out, and the air was as raw as a new wound—itwent clear to the bone. 

Now on such a night as this I have known Mrs. Purblind to serve her lordcold veal and lettuce, simple because it was July, and a suitable timefor heat. And I assure you that sufficient heat was generated beforethis cold supper was consumed. But to return to Mrs. Owl, on thatparticular night. I saw her watching at door and window, for her partnerwas late. I peeped into the parlor, and it was as cosy and inviting as aglowing fire, a shaded lamp, and a comfortable sofa wheeled near thetable, could make it. 

By and by, he came glowering along. What will she say, I asked myself. Will it be:

“Oh, how late you are! What’s the matter? What kept you? Well, come in, you must be cold. Lie down on the sofa while I get supper, but don’t putyour feet up till I get a paper for them to rest on. ”

All this would have answered well enough with a decent sort of a man, but this homo required peculiar treatment. 

It was what she didn’t say that was most remarkable. 

After a cheerful “How-de-do” she didn’t speak a word for some time, butwalked into the house humming a lively air, and busied herself with hissupper. She didn’t set this in the dining room, but right before thatopen fire. Without any fuss or commotion she broiled a piece of steakover those glowing coals, while over her big lamp she made a cup ofcoffee, and in her chafing dish prepared some creamed potatoes. She hadbread and butter ready, and some little dessert, and so with a wave of afairy wand, as it seemed, there was the cosiest, most tempting littlesupper you ever saw on the table at his side. 

Meanwhile he had found the sofa, the fire, and the lamp, and was readinghis paper. He threw the latter down when supper was announced, and shejoined him at the table; poured his coffee, ate a bit now and then forcompany, and talked—why, how that woman did talk! I couldn’t hear a wordthat she said, but I knew by the expression of her face it was humorous;and laugh, how she laughed! and erelong he joined in—why, once he leanedback, and actually ha-haed. 

When supper was over, she left him to his paper again, while she clearedeverything away. Later on she joined him, and the next I knew they wereplaying chess, and still later, talking and reading aloud. 

This is but a sample of her life with him—in everything she consultshis mood, his comfort, his tastes. She never jars him—never rubs him thewrong way, and meanwhile she has all she wants, for she can do anythingwith him, and he thinks the sun rises and sets with her. 

It is a good cook that makes an appetizing dish out of poor material, and when a woman makes a delicious husband out of little or nothing shemay rank as a _chef_. 

 II

You may say all I have been describing belongs more properly to littleMrs. Thrush, on my right. Bless you! that woman doesn’t have to thinkand plan to make things comfortable. Were she set down in the desert ofSahara, she would sweep it up, spread a rug; hang a few draperies, andlo! it would be cosy and home-like. She can’t help being and doing justright, wherever she is put, and her husband is just like her, as good asgold. Why, that man would bore a woman of ingenuity—a woman who had agenius for contriving and managing. He doesn’t need any cooking; he’sready to serve just as he is, couldn’t be improved. There’s absolutelynothing to be done. Mrs. Owl would get a divorce from him inside of amonth, on the ground of insipidity. Her fine capabilities for makingmuch out of nothing, would turn saffron for lack of use. Mr. Owl is themate for her. To every man according to his taste; to every womanaccording to her need. 

I am lying in the hammock, under the soft maple tree in my side yard, speculating on all these matters. Summer is now upon us, for we are inthe midst of June. Yesterday was one of Lowell’s rare days, but thismorning the thermometer took offense, and rose in fury. I can see thequivering air as it radiates from the dusty, sun-beaten road, and acertain drowsy hum in the atmosphere, palpable only to the trained ear, tells of the great heat. Some of my neighbors are sitting on theirgalleries, reading or sewing; some, like myself, are lolling inhammocks; even the voices of the children have a certain monotonoustone, in harmony with the stupid heaviness of the day. Only the birdsand squirrels show any life or spirit; the former are twittering abovemy head, courting, it may be, or possibly discussing some detail ofhousehold economy. They hop from bough to bough, touch up their plumage, and chirp in a cheerful, happy sort of fashion, as if this was theirespecial weather, as indeed it is. Up yonder tree, a squirrel is racingabout, in the exuberance of his glee. He has done up his work, no doubt, and now is off for a frolic. I lie here, not a stone’s throw from him, watching his merry antics, and rejoicing to think how free from fear heis, when all at once the leaves of his tree are cut by a flying missile, and the next second I see my gay fellow tumble headlong from the bough, and fall in a helpless little heap on the grass. I start up in affright, and hear a passing boy call out to another, over the way, “I brought him down, Jim. ”

Involuntarily I clinch my hands. 

“You little coward!” I exclaim, “it is _you_ who should be brought down!You are too mean to live. ”

He laughs brutally, and goes on, whistling indifferently, while I pickup the dead squirrel lying at my feet. 

I find myself crying, before I know it. Not alone with pity for thesquirrel; something else is hurting me. 

“Is this the masculine nature?” I ask some one—I don’t know whom. 

Perhaps it is one of those questions which are flung upward, in a blindkind of way, and which God sometimes catches and answers. 

“Are they made this way? Was it meant that they should be brutal?”

I am still holding the squirrel and thinking, when I hear my name, andturning see my neighbor over the way, Mrs. Purblind’s brother, standingnear me. 

“Good morning, Mr. Chance, ” I say, rather coldly. 

All men are hateful to me at that moment; to my mind they all have thatboy’s nature, though they keep it under cover until they know you well, or have you in their power. 

“The little fellow is dead, I suppose, ” he said. 

“Yes, ” I answer with a sob which I turn away to conceal. I don’t wish toexcite his mirth. Of course he would only see something laughable in mygrief, and he couldn’t dream what I am thinking about. 

“You mustn’t be too hard on the boy, Miss Leigh, ” he says quietly; “itwas a brutal act, but that same aggressiveness will one day give himpower to battle in life against difficulties and temptations as well. Itwill make him able to protect those whom a kind Providence may put inhis charge. Just now he doesn’t know what to do with the force, andevidently has not had good teaching. I’m sorry he did this; it hurts meto see an innocent creature harmed, and still more I am sorry becauseit has hurt you. ”

He is standing near me now, and as I raise my eyes, I find him lookingat me with a sweet earnestness, that wins me not only to forgive him forbeing a man, but to feel that perhaps men are noble, after all. 

His look and tone linger with me long after he has gone, as a cadence ofmusic may vibrate through the soul when both musician and instrument aremute. 

The day after this of which I have been telling, I went to a picnicgotten up by Mrs. Purblind, for the entertainment and delectation of Mr. Purblind’s cousin, now visiting her, a frivolous young thing, betweenwhom and myself there was not even the weather in common, for she wouldlabel “simply horrid” a lovely gray day, containing all sorts ofpossibilities for the imagination behind its mists and clouds. 

I didn’t care for this picnic, and didn’t see why I was invited as mostof the guests were younger than myself. But it was one of those caseswhere a refusal might be misconstrued, and so I went. We sat around thewhite tablecloth _en masse_, for dinner; and in the course of thepassing of viands, Miss Sprig was asked to help herself to olives thathappened to be near her. 

“Yes, do, while you have opportunity, ” said Mrs. Purblind. 

“I always embrace opportunity, ” replied Miss Sprig with a simper. Whereat Mr. Chance, sitting next her, suggested that, as a synonym ofopportunity, possibly he might stand in its stead. 

I detest such speeches, they are properly termed soft, for theycertainly are mushy—lacking in stamina—fiber of any sort. But I couldhave endured it, as I had endured much else of the same sort that day, had it not come from Mr. Chance. It may be foolish of me, but his toneand his words of the day before were still with me. They were sodignified, so sensible, so manly, that I respected and admired him. Upto that time I had not felt that I knew him, but after he spoke in thatway, it seemed as if we were acquainted. Now I saw how utterly mistakenI had been, and I was mortified and disgusted. 

The silly little speech I have quoted was not all, by any means; therewere more of the same kind, and actions that corresponded. Evidently hewas one of those instruments which are played upon at will by thepassing zephyr. With a self-respecting woman, he was manly; with avapid, bold girl, he was silly and familiar. I decided that I likedsomething more stable, something that could be depended upon. 

I was placed in a difficult position just then. Had I acted upon myimpulse, I should have risen and walked off—such conduct is an affrontto womanhood, I think; but I was held in my place by a fear—foolish, yetgrounded, that my action would be regarded as an expression ofjealousy, the jealousy of an old maid, of a woman much younger andprettier than herself. This is but one of the many instances of theinjustice of the world. I don’t think that I am addicted to jealousy, but I may not know myself. Possibly I might have felt jealous had I beeneclipsed by a beautiful or gifted woman, but it would be impossible forme to experience any such emotion on seeing a man with whom I have but aslight acquaintance, devote himself to a girl whom I should regard asnot only my mental inferior, but also as beneath me morally and sociallyas well. The only sensation of which I was cognizant was a disgusttoward the man, and mortification over the mistaken estimate of hischaracter, that had led me, the day before, to suppose him on a footingwith myself. 

As soon as possible after dinner I slipped away for a stroll. The placewas very lovely, and I felt that if I could creep off with MotherNature, she would smooth some cross-grained, fretful wrinkles that weregathering in my mind, and were saddening my soul. So when the folly andjesting were at their height I dipped into the thicket near at hand, anddodging here and there, jumping fallen logs, and untangling my way amongthe vines which embraced the stern old woods like seductive sirens, I atlast struck a shaded path, which erelong led me down through a ravine tothe waters of the big old lake. It too had dined, but instead ofyielding itself to folly, was taking its siesta. Across its tranquilbosom the zephyrs played, stirring ripples and tiny eddies, as dreamsmay stir lights and shadows on the sleeping face. 

I had not walked along the beach, with the waves sighing at my feet, andwhispering all sorts of soothing nothings, for a great distance, beforeI began to experience that uncomfortable reaction which sometimes arisesfrom splitting in two, as it were, standing off at a distance andlooking oneself in the face. I realized that I had been something of aprig and considerable of a Pharisee. My late discomfort was not causedby the fact that a young girl had cheapened herself, but by the factthat a man had demeaned himself and in a manner involved me, inasmuch asI had been led the day before by a false estimate of his character toregard him as my social equal. After all it was this last that hurtmost; it was my little self and not my brother about whom I was chieflyconcerned. 

I am not naturally sentimental or morbid, so I merely decided thatinternally I had made a goose of myself and not shown any surplus ofnobility; and with a little sigh of satisfaction that I had given thesmall world about me no sign of my folly, I dismissed the subject andbetook myself to an eager enjoyment of the day. 

The soft June breeze played with my hair and gently and affectionatelytouched my face; the lake quivering and rippling with passing emotionsstretched away from me toward that other shore which it kept secretedsomewhere on its farther side. The very sight of it, with its shimmeringgreens, turquoise blue, and tawny yellow, cooled and soothed me, and ereI knew it, I had slipped into a pleasant, active speculation on mattersof larger interest than the petty subjects which had lined my brow amoment before. I was walking directly toward one of my families, and itoccurred to me that I might run in and make a call, while I was near athand. I had first become interested in them at church. I was impressedby their cleanliness and regularity of attendance, and by a certainjudicious arrangement of their children—the parents always sitting so asto separate the latter by their authority and order. 

Another point that claimed my attention was that the children werechanged each Sunday—a fresh three succeeding the first bunch, and onthe third Sunday, one of the first three being added to a fresh two, tomake up the proper complement. Both parents had a self-respecting, self-sacrificing look, as of people who had learned to help themselvescautiously from the family dish, and to “put their knives to theirthroats” before time; but kept all this to themselves, asking nothingfrom anyone, and making their little answer without murmur or complaint. I had, for some time, realized that the child who was now getting morethan his share of sermons, by reappearing on the third Sunday, wouldsoon be reduced to the level of his brethren, and a new relative wouldtake the place which he had been filling as a matter of accommodation. Isought occasion to make the acquaintance of the mother of this finebrood, on the pretext of some church work, and after that became aregular visitor at their little home. The perfect equality of theparents; the deference with which they treated one another; and theirquiet happiness, in spite of all labor and privation, made me realizethat they might well extend a pitying thought to some of the apparentlywealthy members of the church. We may yet live to see the day when a newscale shall come in vogue, and some Crœsus who now stands in an enviablelight, shall then pass into his true position, and become an object ofpity. Mere dollars and cents are a misleading criterion of poverty andwealth. 

I had seen my friends, and found that the mother and her new nestlingwere in comparative comfort, and I was on the homeward stretch along thebeach, when I saw Mr. Chance walking toward me. 

“I was commissioned to look you up, ” he said. 

“Thank you, ” I replied, “I have been of age for some years. ”

Of course he noticed the coolness in my voice, and in some way I divinedthat he knew the cause. 

We went aboard our homeward-bound train about 5 o’clock. 

Mr. Chance helped me on, and evidently expected to sit with me, but Ithwarted him by dropping down beside an elderly lady, an acquaintancewho happened to be in that coach. I felt no grudge against him, but Ididn’t care to have him pass from such a girl as Miss Sprig to me; hisconduct with her impaired his value somewhat in my eyes. My elderlyfriend saw and recognized the situation, I am sure, and governed herlater remarks accordingly. 

Mr. Chance passed on, and took a seat with one of the superfluous men, for contrary to the rule on most such occasions, the male gender was inexcess of the female. I had not expected him to return to Miss Sprig;men always become satiated with such girls, soon or late. 

My elderly acquaintance entered upon an animated conversation, thatbecame more and more personal, and finally reached a climax when sheleaned over, and said in a semi-whisper:

“My dear Miss Leigh, you ought to marry. ”

I had been told this a number of times; any one would suppose, to listento some of these women, that I had but to put out my hand, and pluck aman from the nearest bush. 

“I don’t doubt you will marry some day, but I’m afraid you may notchoose wisely”—here she lowered her voice again—“after a man reachesthirty-five he becomes very fixed in his ways, and I don’t think it’ssafe for a maiden lady to try to manage him; it needs some one of moreexperience. ”

I knew she had Mr. Chance in mind, and I was so indignant at beingwarned against a man who had never shown the first symptom of any suchfolly as addressing me, that the blood mounted to my hair. 

Observing this, my elderly companion whispered:

“I wasn’t thinking of any one, in particular, my dear;” upon which Igrew more enraged, and the color in my face deepened until I must haveresembled an irate old turkey gobbler—“not of any one in particular, mydear; but on general principles, I shouldn’t advise such a match. Awidower would be just the thing for you, and there always are widowers, and every year the list grows—death makes inroads, you know. ”

This idea, this hope of a second crop, as I had passed beyond the firstpicking, was comforting. I knew perfectly well whom she had in mind forme—a nice fat little widower, about fifty years old, who had been heldon the marital spit, until he was done to a turn. 

 III

The summer was ended, and I was not married. I am speaking now from thestandpoint of my neighbors; to my mind life did not swing on this hinge. I had my occupations—there were a goodly number of needy folk to belooked after; there was my reading; my music; my friends, and otherpleasures, and altogether I felt I was very well off. Not that I wascynically opposed to marriage; I intended to marry, if the right mancalled, but if he did not I was content to end life as I had begun it—insingle blessedness. 

My neighbors, however, were of another mind—I must marry; and they keptmaking efforts to find some one who would fit, trying on one man afteranother, without his consent or mine, something as one would attempt toforce clothes on a savage. 

But in spite of all such friendly offices the summer was ended, and Iwas not married. I was thinking of it on this particular day, as I stoodgazing from the window—thinking of it with a sort of quiet wonder, forwith an entire neighborhood intent upon this end, it was rathersurprising that I was not double by this time. Had they succeeded Ishould now occupy a very different attitude. It is only old bachelorsand old maids who speculate and theorize on marriage; when people arereally about it, they say little, and (it would often appear) thinkless. 

It was a day for speculation—this particular one; the dead leaves werescurrying up the street as people ran for a train; a gusty wind wascarrying all before it for the time being, like an overbearing debater. The trees shook and groaned, recoiled and shuddered, like humancreatures in the blast; in their agitation dropping hosts of leaves thatimmediately slipped under covert, or else joined their fellows in therace up town. The sky was non-committal, and the lake looked dark andsecretive, as if it meditated wreck and disaster. 

It was only the middle of September, but there had been several of thesedays—a hint, perchance, of what was to come by and by, as a gay waltzstrain sometimes dips into real life, and makes one look inward for amoment. 

The house did not invite me just at this time, and the elements did; atleast I felt that rising within me which tempted me forth to have a boutwith them. 

I was walking at a goodly pace along the Boulevard—for I love the lakein all its moods—when two men with anxious faces overtook, and hurriedpast me. 

“There’s been a wreck, miss, ” one of them—a man I knew—called back. 

I quickened my pace, trying to peer through the sullen fog, as I ran. The occasional dull boom of a gun called “Help, ” from out the grayness, with pathetic persistency. Soon another sound caught my ear, or rathervibrated through my frame, for the ground beneath me seemed to tremble, and I turned to see the swift oncoming of the life-saving crew from astation below us. 

I had barely time to jump one side, before the huge wagon, bearing theboat and its men, swept past me, every one of those splendid horses withhis head lowered, and his fine muscles set for the race. 

It was all done with the celerity and ease with which things areaccomplished in dreams. The sudden halting of the big wagon; theswinging of the boat to the ground; the swift donning of the yellowoilskin suits by the crew; the launch, and before one had time to wink, the strong strokes in perfect time, that bore the boat up and down, andup again, on those tumultuous waves. 

There were other spectators beside myself, standing with strained sightand hearing, and throbbing hearts, upon the strip of beach. And therewere other workers beside the crew. I had thought we were a smallcommunity out there in the little suburb, and I gazed with wonder thatmorning at the crowd which seemed to have dropped from the sky, or comeup from below. 

The men were chiefly from the middle and laboring classes, for theothers go in on early trains, but Randolph Chance was there, hisnewspaper work giving him his mornings. We spoke to one another, butentered into no conversation. My thought was with the doomed ship, andso was his. 

“Will any of you boys join me in taking off some of those people?” heasked the men at hand. 

“It’s a rough sea, Mr. Chance. ”

“I know it, but I understand boating; I guess we can manage it. ”

“Don’t you think the life-saving crew can do the work?” I asked. 

“No, ” he answered shortly, “there won’t be time for them to make enoughtrips. Come, boys, here she goes! Jump in, a half dozen of you that canpull oars. ”

There were boats enough, and soon there were men enough, for the humanheart is kind and brave, and under a good leader men will walk up toDeath himself without flinching. 

Randolph Chance was big and strong, alert, and self controlled—a goodleader. I realized all this just now, as I had not before, and I thoughthow strange it was that so much goodness should be bound up with so muchfolly. It was the old story of the wheat and the tares; and I said: “Anenemy hath done this, ” and then I thought of Miss Sprig. 

I don’t like to dwell on that morning; the experience was new to me, andI can’t forget it; I can’t rid myself of the sound of those shrieks whenthe ship went down. She struggled like a human creature under a suddenblow—rocked, tottered, quivered, and then collapsed. 

The little boats made five trips and brought ashore almost all thepassengers and crew—all but one woman, and a little child. 

I was one of the many who received the chilled and frightened victims ofthe storm, and indeed, as soon as we were able to dispose of the moredelicate and needy ones, we turned our thought to the brave crews of thelittle boats, for their exertions had been almost superhuman, and theywere well-nigh exhausted. 

I bent over Randolph Chance, and begged him to take a little brandy someone had brought. 

“Give it to the women, ” he said feebly. 

“They are all cared for; I’m going to look out for you now, Mr. Chance. ”

“I wouldn’t feel so done up, ” he said, “if it weren’t for that woman. She begged me to save her, and she had a little child in her arms, ” andhis voice broke. 

“You mustn’t think of her, ” I said, “you did all you could. ”

“Yes, I did my best to reach her, but before I could get there, she wentdown. I can never forget her face. Oh, at such a time a fellow can’thelp wishing he were just a little quicker, and just a little stronger. ”

He had risen from the beach where he had flung himself or fallen, onleaving the boat, but he fell again. I could plainly see that theexhaustion from which he suffered was due as much to mental distress asto physical effort, and I thought no less of him for that. 

He was finally prevailed upon to get into the wagon which had broughtthe life-saving crew, and which was now loaded down with the otherboatmen, and many of the passengers from the wreck, and so he was takenhome. And I walked back alone, with a queer little feeling somewhere inthe region of my heart. 

Man, after all, is a harp, I said to myself; a good player—the rightwoman can draw forth wonderful music, but the wrong woman will call outnothing but discords. 

Materials don’t count for everything; there’s a deal in the cooking. 

I was on my way home, when I met two of my neighbors hurrying toward thescene—Mr. And Mrs. Daemon. 

“You’re too late, ” I said, “it’s all over. ”

“I only heard of it a little while ago;” said Mrs. Daemon; “I was in thecity, and I met Mr. Daemon who had just been told there was a wreck offthis shore, and was coming out to see it, so we both took the firsttrain. ”

They hurried on, wishing to see what they could, and I walked homeward. 

Their appearance had slipped into my reflections as neatly as a goodillustration slips into a discourse. I must tell you their story, andthen see if you dare say man is not a harp, and woman not a harpist. 

Years ago, when I was a child, I used to see my mother wax indignantover the wrongs inflicted upon one of her neighbors—a gentle littlewoman whose backbone evidently needed restarching. She was the mother ofthree children, and should have been a most happy wife, for her tasteswere domestic—her devotion to her family unbounded. Unhappily, she waswedded to a man of overbearing, tyrannical temper—one of those uglynatures in which meanness is generated by devotion. The more he realizedhis power over his poor little wife, the more he bullied her, andbeneath this treatment she faded, day by day, until finally she closedher tired, pathetic eyes forever. My mother used to say she had no doubtthe man was overwhelmed by her death, and would have suffered fromremorse, but for the injudicious zeal of some of the neighbors, who wereso wrought up by this culmination of years of injustice and cruelty, that they attacked him fore and aft, as it were, creating a scandalousscene over the little woman’s remains, accusing him of being hermurderer, and assigning him to the warmest quarters in the nether world. As a result of this outbreak of public opinion the man hardened, andassumed a defiant attitude which he continued to maintain toward theneighbors for some years. In the midst of all this furor, the sister ofthe departed wife walked calm and still. The power of the silent womanhas often been dwelt upon, but I really do not think that half enoughhas been said, although I am aware of committing an absurdity when Irecommend voluble speech on the subject of silence. Jesting andparadoxes aside, however, the silent woman wields a power known only tothe man toward whom her silence is directed. 

In this particular case the power was all for the best. Erelong thesister-in-law obtained such mastery over the forlorn household that sheheld not only the fate of the little ones, but that of the father aswell, in the hollow of her hand. 

Two years slipped by, and then the neighborhood that had dozed off, asit were, awoke to hear that the sister was going to marry that awfulman. 

At once the vigilance committee arose, and took the case in hand. 

“It can’t be possible, ” it cried to the woman. 

“Yes, it is true, ” she said. 

“Why, don’t you know that he killed your sister?”

“I know he did. ”

“And you are going to marry him, in face of that?”

“Yes. ”

“Well, he’ll kill you. ”

“Oh, no, he won’t kill me”—there was a peculiar light in her eyes thatpuzzled them. 

“What can you want to marry such a man for?” they cried, coming back tothe original question. 

“To keep the children. If I don’t marry him, some one else will, andthose children will go out of my hands. ”

Her devotion to the motherless brood had been past praise. There wasnothing more to be said, and if there had been it would have availednothing, for the sister had a mind of her own. She was one of thosehandsome women, who walk this earth like queens, and to whom lesser folkdefer. 

She married, and lo! the neighborhood was agog once more, for strangestories came floating from out that handsome house, and it appeared fora time that instead of his killing her she was like to kill him. 

I remember one tale in particular, which my mother who, by the way, wasno gossip, and was as peaceable as a barnyard fowl, was in the habit ofrehearsing before a chosen few, occasionally, with a quiet relish thatwas amusing, considering the fact that ordinarily any comment on herneighbors’ affairs was alien to her. It appeared that after a shortwedding trip, during which the bridegroom had several times shown thecloven foot, the couple returned to their domicile. Probably the maidswho had lived there for some years and were devoted to the new wife, hadbeen warned of what was coming. At all events, they accepted everythingas a matter of course. 

Upon the evening of the married pair’s return, a handsome dinner wasserved. The train was a trifle behind time; the day had been cold, andseveral other untoward circumstances had conspired to let loose thebridegroom’s natural depravity. An overdone roast served to touch offthis inflammable material. 

“—— these servants!” he exclaimed; “I’ll kick every one of them throughthe front window! Look at that roast!”

The doors being now open, a perfect storm of ugly, evil tempers pouredforth. 

At such times as these it was the custom of wife number one to shiver, shrink, implore—weep, then take the offending roast from the room, andreplace it by something else which most likely was hurled at her, inthe end. 

The present Mrs. Daemon neither shivered nor shrank. She knew what toexpect when she married this man, and she was ready. The guns wereloaded and aimed, and they went off, and presto! the enemy lay dead onthe dining room floor. 

Instead of a roast beef solo, there was a duet, Mrs. Daemon’s femininesoprano rising above her husband’s masculine roar. She agreed with whathe said as to the disposition of the servants, only adding that sheintended to hang them all, before he put them through the front window. 

“To insult us during our honeymoon with such a roast, ” she cried; “andlook at this gravy! It’s even worse!”

And with one swift stroke of her hand she sent the gravy bowl flyingfrom off the table on to the handsome carpet. 

“In Heaven’s name, what are you about?” he bawled. 

“Do you suppose I’d offer you such gravy; it ought to be flung in theirfaces. ”

He gasped and stammered; thought of the recent wedding and regretted it;but he was married now, and to an awful shrew!

Soon after dinner they repaired to the drawing room. In turning from thefireplace he stumbled against a large, elegant vase. 

“Confound that thing!” he exclaimed, “I always did hate those vases thatset on the floor. ”

“So do I!” she chimed in, and putting out her foot with an expressivejerk, she kicked it over, and broke it into a hundred fragments. 

“Do you see what you’ve done?” he cried, “have you forgotten that thatvase was a present from me?”

“No, I haven’t, but we both hate it, and what’s the use of keeping it?”

This was but the beginning; from that time on, let him but murmuragainst a dish, and it was flung on to the floor; torrents of abusewere poured upon the head of a maid with whom he found fault; some ofthe handsomest furniture in the house was broken, the moment it gaveoffense to him. In no vehemence was he alone—his wife’s anathemas andabuse joined and exceeded his, until—he had enough of it—an overdose, infact, and erelong he turned a corner—came out of Hurricane Gulch intoPeaceful Lane, and he hoped the latter would know no turning. Theservants whispered of times when he would tell his wife of guestsinvited to the house, and entreat her not to make a scene while theywere there. 

Sixteen years have gone by, and this woman is still above ground;stranger still the man is alive as well; and strangest of all, they arestill under the same roof. Indeed, if report and appearance are to betrusted, Mr. Daemon is a model husband, and Mrs. Daemon’s sudden andamazing temper has spent itself and left her a person of spirit indeed, but in nowise unamiable, and least of all, an ugly character. 

No one who saw them walk past me, arm in arm, that morning, on their wayto the wreck, would have dreamed of their past. 

Truly, man _is_ a harp, and truly, woman does the harping. 

 IV

I have been wandering about to-day in an apparently aimless fashion, butin reality “musing upon many things. ” Our horror of shiftlessness, andour realization of the responsibilities of life, and of the importantwork Providence has kept saving up for us, or perhaps “growing up” forus, like Dick Swiviller’s future mate, is expressed in the fact that ifwe take an hour’s leisure, anywhere betwixt sunrise and sunset, we feelunder bonds to explain the matter not only to our own souls, but also tothose other souls who live adjacent, and take an everlasting interest inours. 

Consequently, I told myself this day that I was not well—that I hadbeen overdoing, and that I had best “go easy for a spell. ” After whichconcession to my interior governor, I proceeded to apologize to myneighbors; to call my dogs—not to apologize to them, but to solicittheir company—and then to hie me away to the lake, remembering to walkfeebly as long as I was in sight. 

I didn’t go down to the beach, but plunged into the cool, comfortingheart of a ravine; fathomed its depths, with a feeling of delightfulseclusion, and came out on the thither side, to find myself in theglowing October woods. 

Ill? I never felt better in my life! Good, rich streams of blood coursedthrough my veins, and painted a warm tint in my cheeks. At that moment Ihope I looked a trifle like Nature, who was in the height of her being;in a sort of tropical luxuriance, like a beautiful woman at the verysummit of maturity and perfection. 

I put out my hands toward a clump of sumach—I was not cold, but itsbrilliant warmth lured me as does a glowing fire. It permeated my verybeing, and set my soul a-throbbing. 

There had been rain, and then warmth, and October had caught all theprismatic colors of the drops of water, and was giving them forth withSouthern prodigality. The birds bent over the swaying daisies, and sangsoft love-notes into their great, dark eyes, while I looked on in anecstasy of wonder and delight—the gold of the daisies, the gold of thesunlight, and the glow in my heart, seeming in a way all one—part andparcel of the munificence and cheering love of the Father. It is aglorious world, and it is glorious to live therein. The very air aboutme—the air I was breathing in, seemed to palpitate color and brilliantbeauty. 

I talked to Duke about it, and he looked around him with a certain airof admiration depicted on his noble, fond old face. Fanchon wasfrivolous, as usual, and wanted to be running giddily about, huntingrabbits and the like; but I made her sit beside me, for it seemed adesecration every time the October silence of those woods was broken byaught save the dropping of a ripened nut, or the whirr of a homing bird. 

It was at the close of this mellow day that I sat in my library alone, before a hickory fire. Alone, did I say? Nay, Mrs. Simpson sat before mein the opposite rocker. You could not have seen her, or heard her, butshe was there, and was complaining of Mr. Simpson, saying he rarely everinvited her to go anywhere; and as she talked I recalled a certainevening when I had been her guest—included in an invitation to attend aspectacular entertainment given by the country club, at a spot somedistance from our homes, and I said:

“Mrs. Simpson, I can offer you some recipes which I warrant you willwork infallibly; but they are like the recipe for determining theinterior condition of eggs, which says, put them in water; if they arebad they will either sink or swim—I have forgotten which. Now try thisrecipe I am about to give you, and it will either make Mr. Simpsonunwilling to take a step in the way of recreation without you, or itwill make him stalk forth by himself, as lonely as a crocus in earlyMarch—I have forgotten which; but try it often enough, and you willlearn. ”

 _Recipe. _

“Fail to be ready at the appointed time, and keep him waiting until heis either raging or sullen; cudgel or dragoon the children until theirtempers are well on edge. Then complain of the gait taken by Mr. Simpsonin order to catch the train; declare frequently when aboard that you aretired out, and are sorry you came. After you reach the place, remarkevery now and then that you don’t think the entertainment amounts tomuch, and that you do think it was a piece of extravagance to havegiven such a price for tickets to so-inferior an exhibition. Next, declare that you feel a draft, and are catching your ‘death of cold;’interlard all this with frequent directions to the children—admonitionsand complaints, and derogatory remarks about Mr. Simpson’s appearance, and wonder—oft-expressed and reiterated, and put in the form ofquestions which you insist upon his answering, as to why he didn’t wearhis other suit of clothes. Finally, wind up the whole affair, by wishingyou were in bed, and announcing your opinion that the trip didn’t pay, and you are sure it will make you and the children ill. 

“Try this faithfully, and it won’t fail to accomplish somethingdecided. ”

One more recipe. 

I was talking to Mrs. Purblind now; Mrs. Simpson had had her fill, andgone home; and Mrs. Purblind had taken her place. 

You couldn’t have seen her—but that doesn’t matter. 

 _Recipe. _

“This is for making a man love to stay at home with you, and inducinghim to be cheerful and companionable, or for making him flee yourpresence as one would flee a plague-stricken city: I’ve forgotten which, but you will soon discover, if you try it persistently. 

“Talk on disagreeable themes, talk persistently and ceaselessly; neverlet up; the more tired he may be the more steadily you must talk, andthe more irritating your theme must be. Go to the gadfly; consider herways and be wise. Buzz, buzz, buzz; sting, sting, sting. 

“On his worst nights, always select his relatives for your theme; harpupon their faults; their failures in life; their humiliations; theunpleasant things people say of them. Then if he waxes irritable, express surprise; remind him how he used to talk against these samerelatives, and how much trouble he gave them when he lived at home; addthat it’s plain now that he has combined with his relatives against you, and that you should be surprised if he and they didn’t effect aseparation. If he is still in earshot, pass on to what he once told you, beginning each remark with:

“You said that——

“And then proceed to point out wherein and howin he has utterly failedto make good his promises. Further, if he is still in the house, enlargeupon the change you have noted in his conduct toward you—how devoted heused to be, and how selfish he has become. Next, tell him howwell-dressed other women are, and how little you have on. 

“By this time, if not sooner, he will remember that he has night workclamoring for him at the office, or that his presence at the club isabsolutely necessary, and it would be well for you to conclude yourremarks by observing that if he bangs the front door so hard every timehe goes out, he will loosen the hinges. ”

“Well now, ” said Mrs. Purblind—the invisible Mrs. Purblind (she alwayswould listen to reason, which is more than could be said for the visiblecreature of that name), “well now, I know well enough when I go on thatway, that it isn’t best to do it; but the Evil One seems to enter me, and I get going, and I couldn’t stop unless I bit my tongue off. ”

“Bite it then, ” I said, “and after that, jump into the lake; were youonce there, your virtues would float, and your husband would love them;but alive, your virtues are beneath water, and your nagging is always ontop. ”

“But what is one to do? Supposing all these things are true—supposingyou suffer from all these wrongs. ”

“Did you ever right a wrong by setting it before your husband in thisway, and at these times?”

“No. ”

“Did you ever improve your condition?”

“No. But what would you do?”

“Shut up. Dip deep into silence. In the first place, when you find youhave poor material, take extra care in the cooking; study the art; useall the skill you can acquire, and finally, if that won’t do, if it_positively_ won’t—if you can’t make a decent dish out of him, open thekitchen door, and heave him into the ash-barrel, and the ash-man willcart him away. ”

I have traveled a little in my life, and have been entertained invarious households. I have seen wives who deserve crowns of laurel, tocompensate for the crown of thorns they have worn for years; but I haveseen others, who had thorns about them indeed, but they themselves werenot on the sharp end. Some of these stupid, ignorant women fancied theywere doing everything possible to make home pleasant, and wondered attheir failure. There they sat, prodding their husbands with hat-pins, and grieved over the poor wretches’ irritability. 

I recall a conversation I once overheard. The husband arrived just atdinner time. The wife heard him come in, and called to him in a faint, dying voice, from the top of the stairway—

“George, is that you?”

The answer was spiritless. 

“Yes. ”

The wife came downstairs. 

“Well, then, we can have dinner. I don’t know that it’s ready, though;Bridget has had a toothache all day, and she’s just good-for-nothing. ”

All this in the same faded tone of voice. 

The husband passed into the parlor, and began to read the paper. 

The weary tongue of his feminine partner wagged on, in a dreary sort ofway. 

“I think these girls are so foolish; they haven’t a bit of pluck. I’vebeen trying to persuade her to go to the dentist’s and have her teethout, but she won’t. I’m just tired to death to-night, and there’s noend to the work; Bridget has been moaning around all day—why herteeth——”

“Oh, bother her teeth!”

“Why, don’t you care to hear anything that goes on at home, George?”

“I don’t care to hear about teeth that go on at home; Bridget’s teethespecially. I don’t care a rap for the whole set. ”

“How cross you are to-night, George! when I’m so tired, too. Johnnie, your face is dirty, go and wash it; be quick now, for it’s time fordinner. I don’t know that Bridget will ever call us. She’s probablysitting out in the kitchen, nursing her teeth; why she has five rootsthere, and all of them so inflamed that——”

“Bother her roots, I say!”

“George, you are extremely irascible, but that’s the way; I get nosympathy at all. ”

“Not when you want it by the wholesale for Bridget’s roots. ”

“Well, what should we talk about? I don’t see how we can ever haveconversation in the home, if you won’t listen to anything. ”

And so they went on—the tired husband, moody and irritable, and thetired wife, loquacious about matters of no interest. I felt sorry forher who spake, and him who heard. 

A husband worn out with the cares and worries of an unsatisfactorybusiness day, and a wife harrassed and fretted by overwork and pettyannoyances, could succeed in talking pleasantly together only by the useof will-power and principle. It would require a big effort, but theeffort would pay. It would be one of the best investments a married paircould make. The returns would be quick and large. I wonder more don’tdeposit in this bank. 

 V

I had not forgotten Mr. Chance. This fact annoyed me excessively, sinceI saw that he had forgotten me. A forgotten man may remember a woman, and preserve his self-respect, if not his merriment; but when aforgotten woman remembers a man, that is quite another thing. Not that Iwas brooding over Mr. Chance—far from it; I thought very little of him, in one way, for I frequently saw him with Miss Sprig; but in spite ofall that, I could not quite forget the impression he made upon me theday those boys killed the gay little squirrel, and again the day thepoor mother went down into the deep, dark water with her child heldclose to her agonized heart. The feeling I experienced for him on thatawful day, was unique in my history. I had never been an impressionablegirl as far as men were concerned—I was not an impressionable woman. Forme to carry the thought of a man home with me—for me to dwell upon thisthought, and above all to take pleasure in dwelling upon it, meant morethan it would have meant for some women. That was as far as the matterhad gone, but it was far enough—too far, considering his evidentindifference, and I was humiliated, for the first time in my life, overmy attitude toward a man. This mortification induced me to treat Mr. Chance even more coldly than I should have done ordinarily, though histrifling with Miss Sprig would have called forth some coolness ofconduct under any circumstances. 

I had abundant opportunity to express myself in this way, for Mr. Chance’s night work necessitated late rising, and I saw him to speak tohim almost every morning. Indeed, I took some pains to be in my gardenduring the forenoon, and from this vantage ground I could not only seemuch that took place between himself and Miss Sprig, but I also hadopportunity to speak with him as he passed my house, on his way to thetrain. 

Sometimes Miss Sprig walked to the station with him. He evidentlyabsorbed much of her time and thought, and she evidently regarded him asher latest victim, for she made him a common subject of talk, and herentire acquaintance had the pleasure of hearing the foolish things hedid and said. She always represented him as deeply in love with her; Ihave no doubt she really thought that he was. 

For my own part, I cared very little whether he was in love, as it iscalled, or not. If he had succumbed to such a shallow-pated, bold, common girl, I felt contempt for him, and this contempt was deepenedwhen I realized that he might be trifling with her. In any event itmortified and angered me to think he had been seen with me; (he hadoften called upon me and we had been out together several times), andthat the old neighborhood gossips had coupled our names. Now it would bereported that Miss Sprig had cut me out; if I was pleasant toward him, they would wag their foolish old heads, and whisper about my efforts towin him back; if I was cool, they would shake these same empty pates, and prattle about my wounded affections. It was one of those cases whereyou can’t possibly do the right thing—I mean the thing that will silencethe clacking tongue: consequently, as luck would have it, I plunged intothe worst possible course I could have taken, for when Mrs. Catlin, wholived catacorner from me, and who watched me as a cat watches a mouse, said something one day about Mr. Chance’s feeling bound to pay attentionto Mr. Purblind’s cousin, as long as she was visiting there, and thatshe knew such a girl wasn’t to his taste, and she was sure he wouldcome to his senses soon, I was so angry that I lost control of mytemper, and all control of my wits, and blazed out with:

“It’s none of my business or concern whom he pays attention to, and formy part I think they’re well mated. ”

Whereupon, realizing I had made a perfect fool of myself, and that thisspeech of mine would go the rounds of the suburb, and I could nevererase it from the village mind—not if I lived a hundred sensible years, I had much ado to withhold myself from seizing a pot of bachelors’buttons that stood near, and breaking the whole thing over Mrs. Catlin’sidiotic skull. 

It was on top of this pleasant interview with Mrs. Catlin, that Mr. Chance came over, and asked me to attend a concert that evening withhimself and Miss Sprig, and he very narrowly avoided receiving thebachelors’ buttons that Mrs. Catlin had but just escaped. 

I strode indoors, and began packing some of my effects, for I wasresolved to move that day, or the next. Not because I had discovered Ihad such fools for neighbors—I had always known that—but because I hadjust discovered that they had a fool for a neighbor. 

Worldly considerations prevailed with me, and I took out the Penatesthat I had slammed into a trunk, mended their broken noses, and set themin place once more; but I hid myself away for several days, much asMoses was hidden, but for a less dignified reason. 

After a time, I cooled off, and decided to accept the world as it stood, and not to rage because the millennium did not come before I was fittedto enjoy it. 

Mrs. Purblind ran over one afternoon, and I could see that she was farfrom happy. I had noticed for some weeks various changes in thedirection of improvement, in her care of her husband and household. Ihad also noticed that Mr. Purblind’s conduct did not keep pace withthese improvements, but I fancied Mrs. Purblind was not sharp enough tosee or sensitive enough to care. In this it seems I erred, as I have inone, or perhaps two, other directions during my life. 

As Mrs. Purblind, for the first time since I have known her, didn’t seemto care to talk, I took up a book at random, and began reading aloud. Asluck would have it, I stumbled into some passages descriptive of theideal home, and before I could stumble out again, the poor woman burstinto tears. I suppose that tender little sentence served as the key thatunlocked the floodgates. As soon as her grief had spent itself, sheapologized, and ascribed her tears to bad news in a letter or something, and shortly afterward left. I watched her walking down the street, untilmy eyes were too dim to see her. It grieved me sorely that the cause ofher sorrow was so deep, and so delicate that I could not offer her mysympathy. Her tears were piteous to me, and I wanted to take her to myheart, and tell her how sorry I was for her; but to do that would havebeen to take advantage of her moment of weakness, and that I couldnot—must not do. So I let her go from me with merely a few commonplaceexpressions of regret that she had received disturbing news, while allthe time my heart was aching in unison with hers, and I kept her with mein thought, all day. 

I went down to the lake directly after dinner; several things weretroubling me, and I wanted to lay my puzzled head on Mother Nature’sbosom. 

My run down the steep sides of the bluff set the blood to coursingsmartly through my veins, and a new and more cheerful stream of thoughtto flowing. 

I was tired that night, and it was a luxury to lie flat upon my back onthe beach, listening to the rhythmical thud of the big, long wave at myfeet, and the song of the stars overhead. There is something unspeakablytranquillizing in the studded dome of heaven; there is also somethingunspeakably sad. It bends over the struggling, yearning, aching humanheart, as a mother, who has attained that peace which is the outgrowthof suffering, bends over the passion, the sobbing, and the despair ofher child. 

“Hush, hush, it is all for the best. ”

“I cannot—will not bear it!”

“Hush, you know not what you say. God’s hand is in it all. ”

“There is no God in this, or if there is, He hates me!”

“Ah, my child, He loves you with unutterable love, and pities withunutterable pity. Yet a little while, and the day shall shine upon you;then you will know—a little while. ”

I turned from the great vault above me, and looked out upon the restivewaters, and as I turned I saw a shadowy Mrs. Purblind sitting beside meon the beach, and questioning with sad eyes and heart, the stars thatbent to listen. 

“I have tried, ” she said; her face, usually so thoughtless, tear-stained, and quivering. 

“Yes, I know you have tried, ” I answered; “I have seen that!”

“But he is just the same. ”

“Yes, and will be for a long time, and you will have to go on trying foryears, if you want to carry him back to the old days, ” I said. 

“That’s one of the hardest things in all the world!” she criedpassionately, “if we stop doing right—the right stops with us, but if westop doing wrong and begin to do right, the wrong goes on. ”

“Not for always, ” I said, looking up to the stars. 

“Oh, for so long!”

The great dome rich with gems, and deep with peace, bent over her, andby and by her sobs ceased. 

“You are trying, I know, ” I reiterated, “but you don’t understand—youcan’t, for you have only a woman’s nature. ”

“What should I have, pray?”

“A woman’s, and a man’s, and a child’s, to be a perfect wife and mother;that is, you must be able to comprehend them all. Your husband came homecross to-night. ”

“Yes, irritable toward us all, and I so hoped to have everythingpleasant this evening. ”

“He, too, had his hopes to-day, and they were flung to the ground, andbroken before his eyes. ”

“What do you mean?”

“The special agent of a company that he has for a year been working toget, has been in town. ”

“Yes, I know. ”

“Yesterday this agent led him to suppose he was to be the favored one. All to-day he has been working toward that end, and near night he heardthat this man had gone, without even saying good-by. You remember thatMr. Purblind left home in a hurry this morning, with scarcely a bite ofbreakfast; he took very little luncheon, and——”

“Well, we had dinner at the usual time, if he’d said he was hungry, I’dhave hurried it. ”

“He was not hungry—he was much more than that. Did you ever see a vesselwhose fuel is well-nigh exhausted drag herself into port? What is thefirst thing to be done?”

“I don’t know—replenish her?”

“Yes, put coal on board. Now when I saw your husband walk up to hisfront door, I said to myself, he needs coaling. A good home should be agood coaling station; remember that. ”

“But what of me?” she asked with some impatience, “I, too, have myworries and exertions—do I never need coaling?”

“Frequently, ” I answered. 

“Well, who is to coal me, I should like to know?”

“Yourself. ”

“That’s rather one-sided, I think. Why shouldn’t my husband look tothat?”

“My dear, ” I said earnestly, “I never knew but one man who saw when hiswife needed coaling, and attended to her wants. When he died (for thegods loved him), it was found that his shoulder-blades were abnormallylarge—at least so the doctors said, but I knew all the time that hiswings had budded. ”

“Well, this life is too much for me, ” murmured Mrs. Purblind drearily. 

“Then don’t attempt the next. ”

“I shan’t, if I can help it, and yet I’m like to soon, for Mr. Purblind’s mother is coming on a visit to us, and I know she’ll worrythe breath out of me. ”

“Don’t let her. ”

“How can I help it?”

“By keeping the peace with her. ”

“Oh, I’ve tried that before; I’ve done everything I could for her, anddeferred to her, and ignored myself until I seemed to fade out ofexistence, but it didn’t work. ”

“Oh, yes, it did, for it made her ten times as troublesome as before. ”

“It certainly did, but what do you mean?”

“I mean that a mother-in-law is like a child, in that she is spoiled byhaving her own way. ”

“But what can I do?”

“Walk calmly on, doing the best you can, but recognizing your ownauthority and dignity, and finally she will come to recognize it. Bemistress of your own household, and director of your own children—allthis quietly and pleasantly, but without wavering, and in the end shewill respect and probably admire you, though she will never think you dojust right, or are just the woman who ought to have married her son. ”

“But I’ve always been in hopes of making her love me as she loves herown daughter. ”

“That is what every romantic woman starts out with, but by and by, inthe storm and stress of domestic life, that ideal is cast overboard, asa struggling ship throws its extra cargo over the rail. ”

“Why is it, I wonder, a man never fights with his father-in-law. Menare said to be naturally pugnacious. ”

“That’s a mistake, my dear; a man would go several miles any day toavoid a fuss; it is we women who delight in scraps. A man occasionallyhas a little set-to with the girl’s father, before he gains his consentto the engagement, but once he’s married, it’s the old lady he has totrain for, or I should say who trains for him, because as a generalthing it is she who gives battle, not he. The real conflict, however, takes place between the two women—the wife and her mother-in-law. If youwant to see ‘de fur fly, ’ as the darkies say, you must always come overto the feminine side of the house. Then you’ll have your fill ofexplanations, expostulations, and recriminations. ”

“Well, certainly I never had any trouble with my father-in-law. ”

“Trouble! Do you know what I’d do, if I had a troublesomefather-in-law?”

“No—murder him?”

“Murder him, indeed! Woman, have you no mercantile instinct? That wouldbe like killing the goose that lays the golden egg. Why, the firstshowman would take the old gentleman off my hands, and pay me a handsomeprice for him. You must know that a troublesome father-in-law is so rarethat the public would flock to see him. But you couldn’t get anythingfor a troublesome mother-in-law. There are too many families trying toget rid of them, at any price. The sale of parents-in-law is governed bythe same laws as other commodities, and these interfering, mischief-making mothers-in-law have become a drug in the market. ”

“Well, there is Mrs. Earnest, her mother-in-law is a jewel. ”

“Ah, now you mention a most valuable piece of property, for a woman likethat—who models her conduct on the pattern of Aunt Betsey Trotwood, inDavid Copperfield’s household, is a jewel of such magnitude andbrilliancy, that she will some day be seen sparkling in Abraham’s bosom, from a distance of millions of miles. ”

“Well, how would you cook mothers-in-law?”

“Make a delicious dish of your husband and then take a pinch—a goodpinch—of mother-in-law, and throw her in as ‘sass. ’ Speaking of this, remember that too many cooks spoil the broth, and wife and mother-in-lawcombined generally make a pretty mess of the husband. ”

 VI

I was feeling a trifle dull and heavy one afternoon, and after severalvain efforts to do good work, decided that a vigorous tramp would set myblood to flowing, and the wheels of my thinking mill to revolving. Soout I started toward the lake, as usual. There had been a storm off theMichigan shore, and we were just beginning to get evidence of it, in thebig waves that were tumbling on the beach, I like the lake in thismood—in any mood, indeed, but especially when it is rough and wild. 

After quite a brisk tramp along, or near the beach, I turned back; butbefore going home again, I wished to come in closer contact with thetumultuous waters. At risk of being wet by the spray, which the waveswere tossing on high, much as an excited horse tosses the foam from hischafing mouth, I climbed around the little bathing house, set on theshore end of the pier, and then boldly walked out, and took my seat inthe midst of the tumult. 

The passion of the lake was magnificent; far out—as far as eye couldstretch—there were oncoming waves; the clan was gathering, and all inbattle array. What an overwhelming charge they made! Surely no one couldresist that onslaught. There was no deliberation, as was usual with amoderately heavy sea; no calm, inevitable heaving of the water; nosteady rising, ever higher and higher, until it crested, curved, andfell with a boom. There was nothing of this to-day; no preparation;everything was ready; the warriors, armed and mounted, were alreadymaking the attack. 

For a time I gloried in it all; even the anger of the waves was moreadmirable than terrific in my sight. It seemed as though theyinterpreted my boldness as defiance, and accepted the challenge. Fromnear, from far, they were coming, and all upon me, or if that is takingtoo much to myself, they were making their attack upon the shore, meaning to claim it for their own, and incidentally to sweep me, a poor, insignificant atom, from their sight. 

By and by I found myself oppressed with the desolation of the scene. Asthe day waned, and the chill that foreshadows night fell upon me, orrather rose upon me, from the cold waters, I began to feel lonely andunprotected. The waves looked so hungry, so cruel; they reached out andup toward me; they encircled with the inevitable, as with a relentlessfate. I began to be afraid of them, and I rose to go back to shore. 

Unlike the ocean, the lake is fixed; but that day the increase of thewaves, in height and fury, had the effect of a rising tide. I realizedthat it would be very difficult for me to get off the pier alone, and Iwas more than relieved to see Randolph Chance, who had come down for alook at the lake before taking his train to the city. He joined mewithout trouble; a man can perform those feats so easily, whereas awoman is physically hampered. 

“You’re in rather a bleak place, Miss Leigh, ” he said. 

“Yes, I have just begun to realize that. ”

“Oh, well, we’ll manage to get off safely; but you mustn’t mind a littlewetting. Just give yourself to me, and we’ll be on shore in a minute. ”

I gladly did as he bade me; it was luxury just then to have some one asstrong and capable as he take the reins. He led me around the bathinghouse, and then lifted me from the pier. As he set me safely on theshore, his eyes met mine, and his look was a revelation to me. I was, for a moment, too startled to think, and the strangest sensation I everexperienced crept over me. If a look could speak, Randolph Chance—but Idid not put it into words—not then, at least, but it was all verystrange to me—most inexplicable. 

We walked on quietly, both, I dare say, feeling our silence to be atrifle awkward. It was for this reason that I decided to shorten thetime of our being together, by stopping at the house of a friend. Thewetting I had received from the waves did not amount to anything for oneso hardy as myself, so I was not deterred on that account. 

The house where I stopped was a pleasant resort for me. Both Mr. AndMrs. Bachelor were interesting people. I had known Mr. Bachelor forfifteen years. He had once been one of our young men, as the saying is, young merely in the sense of being single, not in actual years, for atthe time I met him he was nearer the forty than the thirty line. Natureseemed to have marked him for single—cussedness, I had almost said, from the first. He was no favorite with any set, being grumpy, fussy, and peculiar. But five years after he rose into sight above my horizonhe married a most sensible, lovely woman; not a child, by the way, forshe was almost forty; and in less than no time, it seemed to us, had afamily of four children about him, one following the other so closelythat the predecessor was all but overtaken. At first we said amongourselves that he must have borrowed these infants, and stuck them up inhis home for appearance’s sake, in some such manner as the proprietor ofa summer hotel once stuck a number of trees in his grounds, to make asandy, barren spot seem fertile and enticing. But by and by we becameconvinced that these little human shoots were his very own, not alonebecause they evinced some disagreeable crotchets similar to his, butalso because of the love he bore them, and the change they wrought inhis character and life. Even around court the man was regardeddifferently; warmth and esteem being extended him now in place of thedislike he had formerly aroused. He had never ceased to be a study tome, and a certain flavor of romance hung about his home—a delightfulflavor, that made it an attractive visiting spot. So it was withconsiderable pleasure that I called upon this particular day. 

I was shown into the parlor—a comfortable room, back of which was a mosthome-like apartment, called the study. As I sat there, awaiting Mrs. Bachelor’s coming, I noticed that her husband’s desk, which stood in thecenter of the study, was strewn with dolls, and paraphernalia closelyrelated thereto. My observations were interrupted by the entrance ofMrs. Bachelor, who welcomed me in her cordial, cheery way. A minutelater Mr. Bachelor came in, and gave me what was for him, a mostfriendly greeting. He excused himself in a little while, and went intohis study. He had, so his wife explained, been ill with a cold for aday or two, and had been working at home the while, to make ready forthe approaching trial of an important case. 

Upon his entering the study, a scene occurred which I shall endeavor togive you as near to the life as possible. As a matter of course hesteered directly for his desk, and his eye immediately fell upon aquantity of grandchildren, variously disposed thereon. 

“Well, I declare!” he exclaimed; “if this isn’t outrageous!” and hegathered up the whole crop—there were fully a dozen dolls, in all stagesof development, and much doll furniture, and toggery of all kinds. 

After dumping the obnoxious elements on to a divan, he returned to hisdesk, and with much grumbling sorted out his law-papers, and went towork. But soon after he had cleared his visage, as it were, his smalldaughter—a pretty child, four years old—ran into the room hugging twopuggy puppies, and two kittens of tender age. It did not take her longto grasp the situation. Running to the divan, she uttered a series ofcries, indicative both of alarm and displeasure. 

“What—what—what is the matter?” said Mr. Bachelor, who had probablyforgotten his offense by this time. 

“You naughty papa!” cried the child; “what did you disturve my dolliesfor?”

“What did you put them on my desk for?” queried her father indignantly;“the idea! I haven’t a spot on earth I can call my own. ”

“You’ve just mussed their best frocks all up, ” continued the child, who, without paying the slightest attention to her father’s vigorous protest, was rapidly replacing her family, puppies, kittens, and all, on thedesk. 

“I tell you I can’t have them here! I have important papers around, andI must be allowed to work in peace. Take them off!”

He started to sweep them on to the floor, but the little girl uttered ashriek. 

“Papa, papa, don’t, ” she screamed. Then, as he desisted, she added, “They’ve just _dot_ to be here—it’s the bestest, highest table, and thelittle doggies and kitties can’t jump off, and I’m doing to have atea-party with Mamie Williams. You must put your nasty old paperssomewhere else. ”

“This is an outrage!” he exclaimed, standing up and declaiming as if hewere in court; “this is imposition run riot; it has reached a climax, and I’ll endure it no longer. Evidently I have no rights that even thesmallest and youngest in the household is bound to respect. It is anotorious fact that I am ruled with a rod of iron, and that even thisbaby of the family flouts me. I say I will stand it no longer. I havebeen held with a tight rein, and a curb bit, but I will turn at last. ”

In his excitement, his metaphors became confused, horses and wormsbeing all mixed up in a heap. 

“Take the desk, take the whole of it, and to-morrow I shall leave thehouse! I shall go back to my bachelor quarters, where I once lived inpeace. ”

The child regarded him seriously, from out her great, brown eyes. 

“Don’t go away, papa, ” she said at last, “you may have a little of yourdesk, if you won’t take too much. I didn’t mean to be cross at you, ” sheadded, with a pathetic quiver of her lip. 

“Well, well!” exclaimed the father hastily, “there, there!” and he laidhis hand softly on her curly little head, “I guess we’ll get on somehow;if I can have a part of the desk, that’ll answer. It’s big enough fortwo, I guess. ”

And he began moving his papers around. 

“Not there, papa, ” said the little tyrant; “no, that’s the sunny side, and little bowwow must be there, ’cause he’s dot the badest cold, andthe kitties haven’t dot but little weeny eyes yet, and they _must_ bewhere it’s most lightest. ”

“Well, well, well, where _may_ I sit? I must get to work. ”

“You may sit right there, and you mustn’t fiddet, ’cause you’ll upsetdolly’s crib, if you do. ”

Soon he was safely bestowed, off on one side, and as he obediently keptto his limitations, all proceeded happily. 

During this domestic scrimmage, Mrs. Bachelor went on chatting in herlively, pleasant fashion with me, never betraying, in any way, that sheoverheard the scene in the study. I was so occupied with it, that Icould pay no heed to her remarks; but she was a wise woman, and knewthat her husband was being cooked to a delicious turn, and that anyinterference on her part, would spoil the dish. I have since learnedthat occasionally, when she sees that the fire is really too hot forhim, she comes to his rescue. 

“If he sputters and fizzes, don’t be anxious; some husbands do thistill they are quite done. ”

Evidently Mrs. Bachelor has studied her cook-book. 

 VII

The little touch of sentiment that flashed, as it were, from RandolphChance as he lifted me off the pier, was presently blotted, as far aseffect upon me was concerned, by the return of Miss Sprig to thePurblind household, and the renewal of his attentions to her. At least Iregarded them as renewed, and I coldly turned my back upon him, and lethim go his way, without further thought or speculation. 

I was daily becoming more interested in another acquaintance—Mr. Gregory, a man of years, whom I had known for some time. He had been avisitor at our house when my parents were living, and had, from time totime, shown me friendly attentions since their death. He frequentlyinvited me to places of entertainment, something Randolph Chance seldomdid, and in many ways contributed to my comfort and happiness. Singlewomen are very dependent upon their men friends for pleasures of thissort; few of them care to go out at night alone, and even when they goin company with each other, the occasion lacks a zest which belongs toit when a woman has an escort. It is strange that many men—many of thosewho believe in the dependence of women, fall into the selfish habit ofgoing alone to theater, concert, and lecture, and so force the women oftheir acquaintance into a position which their sentiments would seem todeprecate. 

While in no way obtrusive, or gushing in his attentions, Mr. Gregory wasmost thoughtful and kind, and few women are without appreciation ofconduct of this type. 

Life flowed on with me with a quiet current. I was not a woman to makescenes with myself or others, and my circumstances were such as topermit of an undisturbed tenor of way. 

One bright afternoon, just as I returned from a long walk, Mrs. Purblindran over to see me, and soon afterward, Mrs. Cynic dropped in. I nevercould bear this latter woman; something malevolent seems to emanate fromher; something that is more or less unhealthful to the moral nature ofall who come in contact with it, just as the miasma from a swamp ispoisonous to the physical being. 

It chanced that I had just finished writing a little story, drawn fromthe life-page of my domestic experience; it was so endeared to my memorythat I was not like to forget it, and yet, in the course of years, itsoutlines would probably fade a trifle if I did not take care to preservetheir distinctness; for that reason I had written it out. 

I ought to have had better sense than to read anything of this kind toMrs. Cynic. In the presence of such people, that which is fresh, beautiful, and holy withers, as a cluster of dewy wild flowers isparched and killed by the hot, sterile breath of a furnace. 

Usually I have some judgment in such matters, but that day alldiscretion seemed to take wings. 

A remark of Mrs. Purblind’s led up to the subject. This little woman cansay ugly things at times, but they are stung out of her, as it were, bysome particular hurt, and are not the expression of her real nature. Shehas a kind, good heart, though her judgment and tact are somewhatlacking. 

We happened to be speaking of men, and something was said about theircapacity for devotion, when Mrs. Purblind exclaimed:

“Devotion! the masculine nature doesn’t know the meaning of the word, unless it is devotion to self. ”

“I must read you a little story I’ve written to-day. It’s a true one, remember—I think I shall call it, ‘Devotion’. ”

I went to my desk, took out the manuscript, and read as follows:

“A few years ago I owned a pair of foxhounds. Duke was the gentleman ofthe family, and Lady was his consort, and a lady she was indeed. I canhardly imagine a human creature of greater intelligence and refinementthan this dumb beast. The attachment between herself and Duke was uniquein its strength, and in its demonstration. He was fully as noble and asintelligent as she, but of a less lively, cheerful temperament. Thearrival of six little Dukes was an occasion of anxiety and excitementfor us all, and we were much relieved when the event was safely over, and we saw Lady and her beautiful family established in peace andcomfort. Matters had run smoothly for about four or five weeks, when oneday I was startled by a series of sharp yelps, which I knew came fromLady. I ran to the window, and saw the poor creature rolling in themiddle of the street, in the greatest pain. By her side was Duke, andhis outcries mingled with hers. The hard-hearted teamster, whose wagonhad done the mischief, had driven off, but I ran to the rescue, andfinally got her into the stable, where her little ones were awaitingher. She only lived a few hours, and her last act was an effort to nurseher clamorous doggies, while with her great, sad eyes she seemed to saygood-by to Duke! The grief of this noble fellow was so great that wethought he would go mad. For a time he refused to let us come near her. He stood over her, licking her senseless form, pushing her gently oncein a while with his head and paws, and then uttering lamentable crieswhen he saw that she did not move, or in any way respond; and meanwhilethe tiny dogs were crawling over her, and mingling their voices withtheir father’s deep notes of distress. It was a most pitiable sight, and we all breathed a sigh of relief when the dear old fellow permittedus to lead him off into the house, and we had an opportunity to disposeof poor Lady. I’ll not try to tell of Duke’s excitement and distresswhen he missed her; of his frantic search all over the place, and of howwe followed him about, and talked to him, and tried to divert him; orhow we all—Duke, and the rest of us, finally sat down in the stable, beside the motherless little family, and wept together. 

“The morning after Lady died, I went out to the stable with a cup ofwarm milk. I had not been able to do anything with the puggy little dogsthe evening before, but I thought that their sharp hunger, after severalhours of abstinence, would lead them to make an effort to drink. Icarried a spoon with me, also a rag to suck, and a bottle, with anipple—all kinds of appliances, in fact. 

“What was my surprise upon entering the stable, to find Duke occupyingLady’s place. He was evidently trying to answer the small dogs’clamorous demand for breakfast, and it was also plain that his failurein this respect amazed and bewildered him. He lay down just as he hadseen Lady do, and when this did not suffice he tried another position;failing again, he withdrew a few paces, and sat for a moment in anattitude of profound thought; returning soon, and trying another device. This resulting unfavorably, he made still another, and then anotherattempt, and finally, grieved to the heart, and worried by the hungrycries of the small dogs, he withdrew once more, and lifting his nosehigh in air, deliberately yowled. 

“At this point I obtruded myself upon the scene and went up to the dearold dog, took his distressed head in my arms, and talked to him. Iexplained to him the difficulty of the situation; how, owing tocircumstances quite beyond his control, he could not take Lady’s place. I urged upon him that he must yield gracefully to his limitations;showed him my appliances, and then when I had soothed and interestedhim, and he had consented to desist, and let me try, I made my essay. 

“It was a study for an artist—my appealing, pitying, impatient, scoldingefforts to induce those unreasonable little creatures to accept a rag, or a bottle in place of a mother. I shouldn’t have cared so much, thatis, I could have taken longer without minding it, had it not been forDuke. His anxiety was so great, and his distress over their cries sokeen, that I was quite unnerved, and as is often the case, I showed myconcern by scolding and abusing the objects in whose behalf I wasexerting myself. 

“I was all but ready to give up, when one of the smallest and liveliestof the puppies (a feminine creature, of course) suddenly seized upon thenipple of the bottle with a lusty grip, and sucked away till she was allbut strangled with milk. Her example was speedily followed by theothers, but before I had gone the rounds Duke comprehended that ourtrials were ended, and then—well, the dignified, sad-faced old doggietook leave of his wits, temporarily, as well as his dignity. He capered, he rolled on the ground, he barked, he bayed, he played leap-frog overmy head, did everything but stand on end, and very nearly that, in hisjoy. 

“From that time on he never failed to be present when his infants werefed, and when I weaned them, and taught them to drink, he was aninterested spectator; helpful too, for one time when a small dog wasobdurate, he took him by the nape of the neck, and shook him thoroughly, before turning him over to me for another trial. On another occasion, the pig of the family drank too deep, as it were, from the flowing bowl, and might have been drowned had it not been for his watchful parent. Duke noticed that the small fore-quarters were plunged into the liquiddinner; he also observed that the hind quarters were slowly rising inmidair. He watched all this, with his accustomed, kindly gravity, untilthe equilibrium was lost, and Master Pup plunged into the pearly sea. Then the startled father leaped to his feet, snatched his offspring froma milky grave, and laid him, sneezing and choking, sadder and wiser, onthe sunny grass-plat to dry. 

“In due time Duke recovered, in a measure, from his grief over Lady’sdeath, and took unto himself another partner. As is usual in the case ofwidowers, his second choice was injudicious, for Fanchon was a giddy, young thing, that didn’t have sense enough to come in out of the rain. 

“But Duke saw no defects; he was all tenderness and attention. 

“It was early winter, but the weather was intensely cold, and we hadtaken Duke and Fanchon in from the stable, and had housed themcomfortably in the cellar. 

“One night I was wakened out of a sound sleep by cries of distress. Icalled my sister and her husband, who were visiting me, and in variouscostumes, all hands went below. Fanchon was running about, crying andmoaning, and Duke was alternately making frantic efforts to soothe her, and kiyiying in a manner that was fearful to hear. We succeeded at lastin getting Fanchon to heed us, and coaxed her to settle down in acomfortable bed we made for her on the far side of the cellar, where shewould have the benefit of the warmth from the furnace, and would be outof the way of the cold air which came in through a window, broken theday before. 

“As soon as she was pacified, Duke was again happy, and he cheerfullylay down to rest. We retired to our rooms, and being very weary, withmuch sightseeing during the day, dropped into a sound sleep. The nextmorning I hurried down into the cellar, wondering whether I should seetwo dogs, or a dozen. To my surprise and dismay, I saw none at all. Thecellar was silent and deserted. I opened the outer door, and with afailing heart, stepped into the clear, bitter cold of a temperaturesomething like fifteen degrees below zero. Just around the corner of thehouse, in a nook slightly sheltered from the biting air, I came upon thefamily. Fanchon lay upon the ground, the snow carefully pushed up aroundher, and her clinging little ones, who were taking their breakfast. Overall—Fanchon and her puppies—covering them with his faithfulbody—shielding them with his never-failing love and devotion, was mynoble hound—as noble, as faithful a dog, as ever man or woman loved. Icalled to him, and rubbed him, but all in vain, and meanwhile stupid, silly Fanchon, that had foolishly left her warm bed in the cellar, looked on with cheerful indifference, and wagged her tail. ”

“Well, ” said Mrs. Cynic, when I had concluded the reading, “that storyseems to me to prove but one thing. ”

“And what is that, pray?” I asked, realizing I had been foolish to readsuch a tale to such an auditor. 

“Why, the truth of Madame de Staël’s remark: ‘The more I see of men, themore I admire dogs. ’”

That hateful woman! She always leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth. Iknow she springs from some corrupt ancestry. She has all the marks ofinward decay upon her. 

When she had gone, Mrs. Purblind and I breathed more freely. 

“She doesn’t believe in anything good, ” said Mrs. Purblind. 

“No, ” I answered in a tone of disgust, “she has nothing within her toanswer to it. ”

“How different she is from Mrs. Earnest, ” continued Mrs. Purblind; “why, you can hardly convince that woman that anyone is really mean, andgoodness knows she has trouble enough to make her bitter. What a husbandshe’s got! That man makes me so mad! He’s ugly from sheer badness. ”

I thought for a moment, and then I assented. I really do believe thatman is ugly without cause. He and his wife live at some distance fromus, and I’ve often visited them. I should like to give you a scene towhich I was witness one evening when I was a trifle ill, and lay on adivan just out of their dining room. 

Mrs. Earnest is like a delicate flower that lifts its pretty face andsmiles in the sunlight of love, but is bowed and broken ’neath thethunder-cloud and storm. She longs to make her home attractive, but herhusband has no sympathy with this desire; to him home is merely theplace where he finds food and lodging, and a safety valve for such moodsand tempers as he is obliged to keep under control in the businessworld. 

The efforts that this poor little wife makes, in her timid way, to startup pleasant subjects of conversation would move a rock to tears. 

This is the scene, as I recall it—a specimen scene. 

The family—husband, wife, and three little children were at dinner, as Isaid. 

“What’s been happening to-day? anything of interest?” asked the littlewife. 

“Not that I know of, ” was the gruff reply. 

Silence, broken by the occasional sound of eating implements, ensued. 

“Pass the bread, will you?” he said in a short tone, directly. 

“See how you like this bread; we are trying the entire wheat flour. Ithink it’s very nice tasting, and they claim it’s rich in nutrition. It’s warranted to make blood, bone, and muscle—brain, too, I believe. I’m going to eat several pounds a day; I may astonish the world yet. ”

This feeble joke was received in stolid silence, and the poor littlewife crept into her shell. 

After a time she peeped out again, and made another effort. 

“I went to the womans’ club this afternoon; Mrs. Pierson invited me. They had a very interesting meeting; they brought up the subject ofsmoke consumers. I never realized before how much property is ruinedyearly by the smoke. It does seem as if manufacturers ought to useconsumers. ”

At this point Bruin openly yawned, and the little wife again retired. But with astonishing elasticity of courage she issued from her shellonce more, this time with the hope that a more masculine theme wouldmeet with some response. 

“They brought a petition around here to-day for us to sign. It seemsthere is some talk of flooring the reservoir and using it as a beergarden this coming summer, and the neighborhood has been called upon toprotest against it. ”

“I know all about that, ” he growled. 

“Have you signed it?”

“I have. ”

Again silence fell as a wet cloak upon them, and the little woman satthere racking her brains, almost depleted by this time, for theatmosphere which such a man as that creates is warranted to dry up allthe intellectual juices. 

One more despairing effort. The children had now left the table, soanecdotes of them were in order. Probably the poor little wife thoughtthat this man could be wakened into attention by a story about one ofhis children. 

“Mamie asked me where cats went to when they died. ‘They don’t goanywhere, ’ I said; ‘when they die, that’s the end of them. ’

“‘Do they turn to dust?’ she asked. 

“‘Yes, just turn to dust, ’ I said. 

“‘Why, then, ’ she exclaimed, and her eyes grew as big as saucers, ‘whenhorses run ’long the streets, are they kicking up cats?’”

All the man said was, “Umph, ” and the little wife’s peal of merrylaughter was checked, and the ha ha’s grew fainter and spread fartherand farther apart, until they died away altogether, and I felt likecharging upon that burly, surly demon, and butting him out of thewindow. 

“How would you serve such a man, if you were his wife?” asked Mrs. Purblind. 

“_Roasted!_”

 VIII

Mr. Gregory’s attentions had become an accepted fact in my life. Theywere dignified and steadfast, and I received them with a certain calmpleasure. They had not, as yet, reached the point of declaration, but itwas clear to me, and to everyone else, who knew anything about thematter, that they were tending thither, and my own thought had reachedthe point of acceptance. I had the greatest respect for him as a man; wewere congenial in our tastes, and personally agreeable to one another. The position he had to offer me was a most dignified, desirable one, ashe was not only a man of sterling integrity, but also a man of wealth;there was, in short, everything in favor of the alliance, and I lookedupon it quietly, but with a sense of substantial, and steadfast comfort. 

Such an event as a marriage cannot even in prospect, face a thoughtfulwoman without making a great change in her life. Mr. Gregory was thattype of man who ought not to be allowed to offer himself in a directionwhere there was no intention of acceptance, for his character and age—hewas fifty or more—forbade all thought of lightness or trifling, and gaveone the assurance that any marked attention he might show, wassignificant. My acquaintance with him had extended over several years, and during this period there had been abundant opportunity, on bothsides, for study of character. 

In a quiet way, I had been arranging my affairs, preparatory to myexpected change in manner of life. I had, as a matter of course, doneconsiderable thinking during this time. I had experienced none of therapture always associated with a romantic attachment, but I was quietlyhappy, and this condition was a far more natural one for me, with mycool, matter-of-fact temperament—a far more promising one, in respect tofuture enjoyment, I felt, than something more ecstatic. 

I had seen but little of Mr. Chance for some weeks. He had calledseveral times, but on each of these occasions, we had passed a somewhatconstrained, and I thought, a rather dull evening. Just why thisconstraint should have crept into our intercourse when we seemed to becoming to a better understanding than heretofore, and were beginning toenjoy a warmer degree of friendship than we had known, I could notunderstand; but its presence was undeniable, and it spoiled everythingfor me, as far as he was concerned, causing me to look upon his calls inthe light of a bore, rather than as a pleasure, as I once had done. Occasionally a memory of that evening when he came to my rescue, as thehungry, cruel waves gathered like wolves about me, would flit across mymind, as a shadow may flit across a sunlit hill. Once in a long while Ifound myself dwelling upon the look he gave me that night, and this, andthe memory of his touch, as he lifted me off the pier, would dim thesunshine of my cheerfulness. I could not have explained this to myself, and I never dwelt upon the thought; whether from disinclination, or fromfear, I could not tell. I only knew that I always turned from itabruptly, and passed on to my plans affecting my life with Mr. Gregory. It was quite easy to plan in this direction, for there was nothinguncertain, as there might have been in the case of a younger man. Mr. Gregory was fixed in his tastes, and way of life; I, too, at my age, hadformed settled habits, and this he knew; but, fortunately, in mostdirections, we were in harmony, and where we were not, we had falleninto a way of making certain concessions. 

So I had matters pretty well laid out; all my theories, born of yearsof close observation of affairs domestic, were now brought to bear on myown future. Secretly I esteemed myself a competent cook, when a husbandwas the dish under discussion. Mr. Gregory was not one to require anyvery complicated wisdom in the culinary art. A little gentle stewing; nostrong seasoning; no violent changes or methods of any sort; butregularity, evenness; quiet affection; respect; comfort, and generalconformance to taste and nature would be necessary, and I felt myselffully equal to it all. 

Matters had well-nigh culminated, for I had received a note from Mr. Gregory asking when I would be at home to him, and saying that he had amatter of great moment to both of us, to lay before me. I set anevening, and then awaited his coming without the slightest quickening ofmy pulse, but with a serenity and cheerfulness that appealed to mycommon sense as the surest forecast of happiness. 

Just at this juncture, a swift turn of the wind-cock, or someimprudence of diet, resulted in my taking cold—a most unusual procedurefor me, and at the time of Mr. Gregory’s call I was unable to see him, being confined to my bed, in the care of a doctor, who was fighting acase of threatened pneumonia. 

Mr. Gregory expressed his sincere regret, and the next day called again, and left flowers. These attentions were repeated daily, and soon afterhearing of my improvement, he wrote me a letter in which he said thatwhich he had intended to say on the evening of the day I fell ill. Hedid not request a reply; in fact, he asked me to withhold my answeruntil I should be able to see him in person. It would have been wiser, perhaps, he said, to have postponed any word on the subject until I hadrecovered, but he had found it difficult to delay the expression of hisfeeling toward me, and hence had written. 

This last rather surprised me, for Mr. Gregory had always seemed sounlikely to be swayed by impulse, or carried, in the slightest degree, beyond a point indicated by his judgment. It simply went to prove thatthe most regularly and smoothly laid-out man, if one may so express it, has unsuspected crooks and turns. 

I had no desire to answer the letter, being perfectly able and willingto wait until I should see him. In fact, instead of hastening the timefor my acceptance, I rather delayed it, for I reached a point in myconvalescence, when I was able to go down to the parlor, had I sowished, and still did not. 

Each day of my illness, a lovely bouquet of flowers had been left at mydoor. They came direct from the greenhouse, and were left without card, or sign of the giver. I had an eccentric little friend who was quitedevoted to me, and was fond of keeping her left hand in darkestignorance of the performances of its counterpart—the right hand—and Iattributed this delicate and beautiful token of sympathy and affectionto her; but, for some inexplicable reason, every morning when theflowers were brought to my room, and I took them in my hand, a strangefeeling came over me—a feeling I had never had toward my little friend. 

Over two weeks had passed, and I was downstairs in the study. My nursehad gone out, my housekeeper was busy, and I was very lonely. I wasstanding at the window, looking westward. The sun had gone down in regalsplendor. Some fête was in progression in the sky, for the attendants ofthe god of day were resplendent in attire. They had been marshalled fromall quarters of the heavens, and their stately and solemn procession, brilliant with the most gorgeous red, royal purple, and dazzling gold, had caused my heart to dilate with awe and reverential admiration. 

The lake, stirred by the wonderful pageant, caught the many hues as theydropped from heaven, and tossed them on high in joyous, iridescentwaves. 

The climax of majesty and beauty was reached, and then the convocationbroke up—not suddenly, but slowly, and with gracious dignity. The sunsank into the waiting arms of the unknown; the lights of heaven faded, and the clouds slowly melted into dusk. 

The scene had stirred me as I am seldom stirred, and with the oncomingof night new thoughts and feelings rose from their lair, as strange andbeautiful wild animals step from their caves into the deep mystery ofdarkness. 

My neighbor next door—Mrs. Thrush, sat on her broad, vine-clad gallery, rocking her little child in her arms. By her side sat her husband, withone arm thrown across her lap. He had laid his paper down, for thedaylight was fading, and perhaps his thought was too happy to stoop todaily news. Softly the little wife and mother sang; she had a sweet homevoice, and no music of orchestra ever moved me as did her lullaby. 

I was at that moment an intensely lonely woman. I thought of Mr. Gregory and my future, and still I was lonely. 

Far away to the east there was a low, long bank of clouds like amountain range, and as the poetry and melody of the lullaby rose fromthe little nest on my left, and stole into my thought, I saw a faintlight above this line; then a group of mist-like clouds that movedtoward me. Slowly the gray haze, tinged with soft light, began toresolve itself into shadowy forms, and my heart stood still as, in somevague way, I traced a connection between the lullaby and the vision, andrealized that a message was coming to me. 

I was perfectly calm, but with the calmness which is the outgrowth of anexcitement so tense that it is still. As the vision floated nearer, Iheard soft music—a crooning, yearning, soul-satisfying lullaby; I saw alittle child, a mother, and a father. The child was as beautiful as anangel, and there was that in its face which made my eyes flood withtears, and my heart ache with yearning; the faces of the parents weretoo vague for me to recognize at first; then slowly, that of the motherbecame more distinct, and I saw _myself_ before me—myself, a wife andmother; the visible answer to my heart’s deepest, most secret cry. Stillthe father’s face was hidden, but as the vision floated by, he turnedand looked at me—the vision wife—with a look I had seen before, and Iuttered a cry as I recognized _Randolph Chance_. 

 IX

As I cried out, I turned slightly and, for a moment, lost the picture. It was changed when again I saw it; Randolph Chance was still there, buthe no longer advanced toward the vision wife—she had faded into mist; hecame slowly toward me. There was a beautiful look on his face—I cannotdescribe it—it was too holy to translate into language; but I could feelit vibrate through my being until it set my very soul a-quivering. I hadno power of resistance—no wish to resist. I almost think I went towardhim, and he was as real to me as if he were in the flesh. I could feelhim as he put his arm around my waist, and his face touched mine. Thevision child had melted away; and we two were alone; I knew my heartthen; I knew I loved this man. 

It was all over in a few moments, but such moments as make an eternity, for they wipe out the past, even as death blots out a life, and theyopen a door to the future. Up to that time I had never thought that, without my knowledge or intent, my heart could slip from me—had neverdreamed that I, whose life had always been most commonplace—I, who hadhad my share of wooing, but had never felt an extra heart-beat becauseof it—no, never dreamed that I, this _I_, so practical and sensible, could be carried off my feet by a vision. A vision, was it? Yes, and yetreal, too real in some ways, since it revealed my innermost thought. Avision! And yet, even now that it had melted into air, I was clinging toit, and instead of resenting its startling revelation of self, wasdwelling upon it, and in it, with a delight beyond words. 

I sat there in my study, my head bent, and my hands loosely clasped inmy lap, living it over and over again. Out of doors, the soft gray duskhad hushed the tired world in its arms. Within, the stillness of nighthad settled down upon the room. By and by the moon rose above the greatwaters of the lake, and on shore the trees were casting silent, solemnshadows, made visible by the soft, hazy light that lay between them. Once in a while a bird uttered its night cry, or some little broodingnote, and over on the vine-clad gallery, Mrs. Thrush still crooned alullaby to her little child, who lay asleep—soft and warm, on hermother-breast. 

I was no longer lonely, no longer shut out from it all—there was thebird on its nest; the little wife and mother in her home; and I—I wasvery near them—akin to them. I had seen myself in _my_ home, with mychild, and my husband; I had felt his dear arms about me, and his dearface close to mine. I was no longer an alien. I, too, had a place inthe heart of another. 

Still I sat and dreamed, and even the ringing of my door-bell failed torouse me: but when I heard the maid say to someone:

“She has been downstairs to-night, but I think she has gone up now, andI don’t like to call her. ”

I started forward, saying quickly:

“No, I am here—I will see any one. ”

And so he came in, but it was not the one I expected. It was Mr. Gregory. 

I think that he found my embarrassment on greeting him both gratifyingand encouraging, but its cause was alien to his thought. I was broughtback from another world, as it were, with a rude shock, and in myenfeebled condition, consequent upon a severe illness could not controlmyself. Indeed I did not feel that I was mistress of myself at any timeduring the evening. 

After a word or two, which I cannot recall, I stammered out:

“I was not expecting you this evening—I had not sent for you. ”

“I know that you have not, ” he answered—then dropping his voice atrifle, he added, “I could not wait any longer—I found it difficult towait so long as this. I hardly dared hope that I might see you thisevening, but I felt I must try. ”

Intent upon sparing him the pain of a spoken declaration, I exclaimed:

“Oh, Mr. Gregory, don’t! please don’t say anything more. I am notdeserving of your esteem and kindness. ”

He came nearer me, and his voice was at once tender and reverent, as hesaid:

“You are more than worthy of what I have to offer, which is myself, andall that I have. ”

“Don’t!” I cried again; “don’t say anything more! Let us imagine thisunsaid!”

“Such words can never be recalled, ” he said gravely. 

“They must be, ” I persisted; “I cannot accept! I have nothing to give inreturn!”

A look of disappointment came over his face, and if I mistake not, itwas shaded with displeasure. “I hardly expected this, Miss Leigh, I havehardly been led to expect this. ”

“I know what you mean, Mr. Gregory, ” I replied, more calmly than I hadspoken before; “I know that I have accepted your attentions—you have hadevery reason to expect a different answer. I’ll not try to deceive you, or keep anything from you. I’ll tell you that I have not been trifling. I have understood you for some time——”

He interrupted me here. 

“Yes, you must have done so; my attentions to you could have but oneinterpretation, if I were a man of honor, and you knew I was that. ”

“I did, indeed, ” I exclaimed. And then my mind went, with a flash likelightning, to Randolph Chance, and I felt a sudden resentment. Had nothe shown me attentions that no man of honor can bestow upon a woman, unless he wishes to make her his wife? Why had he left me in thisstrait? Why had he not spoken out? Why had he not claimed before theworld that which he had taken such pains to win? I was uncertain aboutRandolph Chance; I had never been uncertain about Mr. Gregory. Why?Because I had perfect confidence in his honor. Was he not the betterman—the more trustworthy? Why could I not marry him? I loved anotherman. A wave of shame and anger swept my face. 

“I have all along been expecting to marry you. I have not beentrifling, ” I cried out. 

He stepped forward, and took my hand. It was as cold as ice. 

“What is it then, Constance, that has changed you? Have I done anythingsince your illness to make you think less of me?”

I trembled from head to foot, and my lips were so stiff and dry thatthey scarce would do my bidding. I must have spoken very indistinctly. 

“No—no, ” I said slowly; “I will tell you everything—I have done you awrong, an unintentional wrong, but I will do penance—I have seen myselfto-night—” I paused here; Mr. Gregory was a practical man; had I toldhim that a vision had changed my attitude, he would have thought meinsane. I myself had begun to entertain doubts as to my sanity. “I knowmyself now, ” I faltered, “I know my heart—I love another man. ”

Mr. Gregory rose, and began pacing the floor. 

“This surprises me greatly, ” he said at length; “there must have beenanother courtship—it would seem that you must have known something ofhow matters were tending. ”

“I have known nothing until to-night. There has been no courtship, inthe ordinary acceptation of that word—I’ll tell you all, even if ithumbles me completely, as a penalty for what I have done to you. Theman I love—” I could feel the blood mantling my face and neck, “hasnever addressed me. ”

Mr. Gregory paused, and looked at me. 

“This is extraordinary, ” he said. 

“It is—I know it is—it is most of all so to me, for it is wholly unlikewhat I have been all my life. ”

“Let us not talk of this any more to-night, Miss Leigh, ” he said, withevident relief; “I have been wrong to press this matter now, when youare hardly recovered. You are not yourself. This is somethingtransitory, no doubt. Later on, you may feel differently. ”

“No, no!” I exclaimed eagerly, “now that we have begun, let us say itall. Don’t—I beg of you, don’t go away with a feeling that I don’t knowmy mind. I am weak and miserable to-night—” here the tears choked myvoice, and I all but broke down, “but I am miserable because I havelearned my true feeling, and know that I must disappoint——”

I could not go on, and again he sat down beside me and took my hand. 

“I cannot understand you, ” he said simply. 

“I can’t understand myself, ” I replied; “but all this is none the lessreal for that. I have learned of it to-night, but it has existed before;it explains many things in the past year. ”

“If that is the case, then I must accept your decision as final. ”

“It is, indeed, ” I answered briefly. 

He rose, and walked the room in silence again; then pausing once more, he said calmly, and with no trace of anger. 

“This is the disappointment of my life. ”

I said nothing. What could I say? To utter any platitudes about beingsorry, would have been to insult him. 

“A man cannot live to my age—I am fifty-two, Miss Leigh—withoutexperiencing disappointment, but I have known nothing equal to this. ”

He paced the room a few moments, and then said:

“This interview must be distressing to you. I am very sorry I broughtit about before you were strong and well. ”

“Say one thing before you go, Mr. Gregory, ” I cried, “only say that youdon’t think I have willfully misled you—say that you respect me still. ”

His face was stirred by a slight quiver, as a placid lake is stirred byan impulse of the evening air. 

“You have had, and you always will have my deepest respect, and mydeepest affection. ”

He took my hand silently, and then quietly left the room. 

And I sat there until I heard the front door close. Then I wentupstairs, but I remember nothing after reaching the first landing. 

They found me lying there. They said I must have fainted. 

 X

I was badly upset for several days. For a time I resolutely put allthought of what had occurred from my mind, but as soon as I felt able, Isat down, with the whole matter before me, as it were, and deliberatelylooked it in the face. I think I never felt more inane in my life thanwhen I remembered my folly, as I now regarded it. All that saved me fromutter self-abasement was the fact that it had occurred at a time when Iwas at such a low ebb physically, by reason of illness. I determined totry to forget it, as speedily as possible. But, however keenly I feltthe humiliation and folly of my emotion upon that strange night, itnever occurred to me to waver, when recalling my decision to bringmatters between Mr. Gregory and myself to an end. My refusal of him hadbeen brought about by one cause, and only one—that I fully realized; andnow that I had repudiated the cause, I might have been expected toreconsider the refusal. But I did not. 

Soon after I was up and about once more, I learned that my little friendhad not sent the flowers. I thought—no, I did not think! but I cherishedsecretly a—well, no! I cherished _nothing_ in secret or in public!

I learned something else, soon after getting up, and this was that astory was going the rounds to the effect that Mr. Gregory had broken ourengagement—and my disappointment had well-nigh occasioned me a relapse. But in a twinkling, almost before I had time to get indignant, Mrs. Catlin was running about, telling everybody that Mr. Gregory hadconfided in her, in strictest confidence, the truth of the matter, which was that I had ended the affair, and not he. 

I was much moved by this manly act on Mr. Gregory’s part. He showed hisshrewdness, too; he could not announce this in public, or go to peopleone by one, so he confided it to Mrs. Catlin, and told her not to tell. 

One Sabbath evening about ten o’clock, I began to lock up the house. Early retirement is something all but unknown to me, but that night, having no particular reason for sitting up, I was about to indulge in itas a novelty. 

I raised the shade of one of the study windows, with intent to draw thebolt, but my hand paused in the act, for my eyes were captured by ascene of surpassing beauty. Fall had lately swept her gorgeous leavesone side, and closed her doors for the season, and we were now standingon the threshold of winter. The early snows are apt to be soft andclinging; it is later on, usually, when the thermometer takes a plungedownward, that they become crisp and hard. It is seldom, however, at anytime of year that the atmospheric conditions are favorable to such acreation as I beheld that night. I hardly know just what is necessary tomake it all—a still, moderate cold, and a very humid air are among themost important conditions, I believe. 

When I stepped outside my door early in the evening, the air all aboutme seemed to be snow, not separated into flakes, but diffused evenly. Altogether it had the effect of a heavy white fog, and I could see eventhen, that it was settling in visible, palpable, feathery forms, notonly upon the ground, but upon every bush and tree as well. It was amost unusual scene, and I gazed at it long and admiringly; but having nofondness for walking through soft, clinging snow, I was not enticed tosally forth, as I always am when the snow is firm and sparkling. 

But by ten o’clock the temperature had changed, and in the cooler airthe almost imperceptible melting of the snow had been stayed. 

The white carpet that had slowly been sinking, was now stationary, andwas covered by a firm crust that gleamed in the moonlight. There was nosparkle on the trees, but the feathery tufts and pinions had ceasedfloating to the ground, and melting into air. The scene, in all itsmatchless beauty, was arrested—held upon nature’s canvas for a fewhours, by the Master hand. 

Stay in doors that night! Would I be so wicked as to turn my back, orclose my eyes upon one of the most delectable scenes that ever a kindProvidence spread before the soul of human creature! Would Ideliberately slight such an exhibition of love and marvelous skill? NotI!

It didn’t take me long to catch up hat and jacket, and with a heart thatbeat high, slip from my house, as a greyhound slips the leash, and hieme away. 

What mattered it that the neighborhood lights were raised—a story, atleast—and that the owners of all the villas near at hand, were preparingfor decorous, temporary retirement. I merely pitied them for theirstupidity, and went my way. I had long been a law unto myself, and whileI did not believe in flaunting my independence in their faces, I nonethe less continued to enjoy it. 

There are nights when to sleep would be the sin of an ingrate; ’twouldbe like gathering up the good things of Providence, and hurling themfrom out the window, in reckless waste. And this night was such a one. 

The keen air, and the entrancing beauty about me, seemed to run in asubtle, fascinating torrent through my veins, and lend me wings. I feltas though I were buoyed up by magic hands; I hardly think I set foot onground the whole way, and yet I must, for I was conscious of a crispcrackle of the snow at every step. 

Oh, is there any sound just like it! Could our poor invalids but pitchtheir nostrums over the wall, and take this tonic instead!

Some friends of mine moved a while ago and drove their family stake in aspot far off from here. They are continually writing me of a region ofperpetual sunshine and summer. I thought of them on this glorious night, and pitied them from the depths of my heart, as I often have, indeed, since they went out there. Theirs is the place for the extremelyindigent, no doubt, but for any one who can command a dollar or so forfuel, this—this is the land of delight. 

I was at no loss as to direction; our suburb was beautiful throughout, especially all along by the lake, but there was one place in particular, where art and nature had joined hands, with a result indescribable. Toward these grounds I hastened, on this particular night. 

Oh, the glory of that moon! the glory of the lake! an undulating sea ofwaves, each crested with a feather, as soft, as snowy in the moonlight, as the tinier ones that hung upon the trees. 

I ran down the winding avenue—the white fog still lingered in the deepplaces, but above, all was clear and glorious. Erelong I entered theDunham’s grounds. At a certain point, unmarked to the stranger’s eye, arustic flight of stairs, now strewn with dead leaves—padded with snow aswell, to-night, dips down from the broad driveway. Quickly I made my wayby this path, and erelong, stood upon one of the little rustic bridgesspanning the ravine, and connecting with a similar flight of ascendingstairs upon the other side. There I paused, and well I might. It were adull, plodding creature indeed, who would not be spellbound by such ascene! On either hand were the sloping wooded sides of the ravine whosedepths were shrouded in the mysterious whiteness of the fog; above me, ashort distance in front, was the arch of the broad, picturesque bridgewith which the driveway spans the hollow. The little rustic bridge onwhich I stood was much lower than the larger one; hence, from myposition, I looked through the archway, beyond, down, and far along theravine. Can you call up fairyland to your mental eye? It would palebefore this scene—those feathery trees! that enchanting vista! I stoodthere drinking it in, and pitying the sleeping world. I could not, evenin thought, express my delight and gratitude for being permitted tobehold such beauty, but finally a familiar line leaped from my lips:

 “Praise God from whom all blessings flow. ”

I can never forget that night; it kindled and warmed my heart with areverential fire. If, in the course of years, my way should be overcast;if, for a time, I should let the artificial—the ignoble, clog the path, and shut me out from the light of heaven, even then I shall be savedfrom doubt, which is always engendered by our stupidity—the things ofour own manufacture—I shall be saved from doubt by the sweet, pure, radiant memory of that winter, moonlight scene. Only a beneficent Godcould create such beauty. 

 XI

On my way back—at what dissipated hour I firmly decline to state—Ipassed a home with an interesting history tacked thereto. 

The leading events were brought me by one of those active, inquisitivelittle birds that find out all sorts of things, and often fetch fromgreat distances. 

The couple who live there, though Americans, once lived in Winnipeg, Manitoba, and it was in that place that the husband fell to drinking. The little bird above alluded to—the bird that acts as a kind ofdomestic ferret—told me that, in the early years of their married life, the wife was of an excitable, hysterical temperament, and given tomaking scenes. Just here let me digress a moment to erect a warningsignboard. I have a friend who is busy mixing and administering a deadlydraught to her domestic happiness, and yet does not know it. She hasonly been married a year, and she uses tears and scenes, in general, asinstruments to pull from her husband the attention, affection, anddevotion she craves. The tug waxes increasingly hard, but she has not, as yet, sense enough to see that, and desist. She cannot realize thatthe success attained by such methods is but the temporary and externalbeauty, which, in reality, covers a failure of the most hopeless type, just as the flush on the consumptive’s cheek is but a pitiablecounterfeit, and covers a fatal disease. 

Whether in this particular story, the report of the wife’s earlyblunders be true or false, there seems to be no doubt that presently thehusband grew careless and indifferent; that scene followed scenebetween them, until at last he went to drinking. Then the little wifewaxed sober, thoughtful, and studied much within herself. This awfulsorrow, following so closely upon the heels of her wedding-day joy, matured her judgment—her womanhood, and she began to use every skillfuldevice to call back her husband from the dark paths he had chosen, tothe light. All in vain, however; and when she realized this, afterseveral years of heroic effort, she made one last scene, and told himshe was going to leave him. Then his old-time tenderness returned—if youcan compare a tenderness which was blurred and cringing, with that whichwas clear and manly. He begged and promised in vain, however, for shehad lost faith, and a lost faith is not found again for many a day. 

So she went off, and she covered all traces and signs so carefully thatno anxious, heartbroken effort of his could find her. Meanwhile shewrote him frequently and regularly, and although he knew not where tosend reply, it is quite likely she had word of him from some one to whomshe had given her confidence in this dreary time. 

And so five years passed, and at their close she walked into her homeone day, and her husband—a man once more, took her in his arms, andlooked his love and joy with clear, honest eyes. 

They came to our city, or rather this little suburb of our city, soonafterward, and although it is well-nigh ten years now that they havebeen among us, there has never been a hint of trouble. Hers was a uniquemethod, but it brought about the desired end. 

Verily it would seem that for some dinners, it is best for the cook tovanish, and leave the dishes to get themselves. 

I was meditating on this as I walked home that night, and the nextmorning, stirred by the recollection of all I had seen and felt, wasmoved to write out a story given me by a young man—a friend of mine, wholives at a great distance from here, on an olive ranch out of Los Gatos, California. 

I wish I could give you this little tale just as he told it. I can’t, Iknow, but I’ll do my best in trying. 

Mrs. Purblind dropped in just as I was reading it over to myself, beforemy study fire. 

“Do you remember my story about Duke?” I asked. 

“Yes, I liked it, ” she said, “though I’m not very partial to dogs. ”

“I have one here about horses. I’ve written it out as nearly as possibleas my friend told it to me, but so much flavor is lost when these thingschange hands. Here it is, and I think that the lamentation David sangover Saul, might head it. 

“A while ago we owned a couple of horses—work horses, and yet, by reasonof the strength of their affections, they were lifted from out thecommonplace, and enveloped with an atmosphere of romance that gave themthe flavor of a story book, plumb full of princes and heroes. And by theway, Prince was the name of one of them, and he was a genuine hero, asyou will see. His mate was called Nelly, and albeit she was as awkwardand as angular as the ideal old maid, vastly inferior to Prince, who wasa fine-looking chap, yet his admiration for her was unbounded. She caredfor him, I’m sure, but she was less demonstrative; more coquettish, Iwould say, if she hadn’t been too homely a beast to think of, inconnection with such a word. 

“They were brought up together; were taught by the same master; sat onthe same bench, in a figurative sense; were lovers from the very first. Prince certainly had the most elegant manners; Nelly was his firstthought, at all times, and his courtesy to her savored of the oldschool. He wouldn’t go into the shed of a cold, rainy day and leaveNelly outside; but if she went in, he was more than content to follow. When it was necessary to separate them—we couldn’t always work themtogether—we had to tie Prince with ropes and cables, as it were, to holdhim fast. Nelly was less difficult to manage; at least, she would lethim go out of sight without fretting, and yet, after all, she seemedeasier if he were at hand. I remember, one day, he was tied in front ofthe house, and she was loose, grazing near by. As long as he could seeher, all went well enough, but the moment she sauntered around thefence, he began first to fidget, then to paw and neigh, and finally tostruggle, until in the end, he broke loose and rushed after hisinamorata. And what a time he made over her! whinnying, anddemonstrating his delight in a dozen different ways. She? oh, she tookit coolly, but that was all feminine bosh, or coquetry on her part. Sheliked to have him near her well enough. 

“There was an amusing thing happened one day, down in the field. Fatherand I were plowing with Nell. We had tied Prince to a tree, the otherside of the knoll we were working on, and supposed he was fast, but toour surprise, just as we turned, after finishing a long furrow, weconfronted the gentleman, tree and all, standing before us in a weak andfainting condition. He had struggled until he had uprooted the wholebusiness, and was so used up in consequence, that he could hardlystagger, much less go into his usual hysterics over Nell. She looked asamazed as we did, and I’ve no doubt gave him a sound curtain lecture onhis folly that night. 

“One day father and Ned took Prince down into the field. Steve and Istayed up near the house, working around the vineyard. Nelly was in thestable. 

“The morning was half gone, when all at once Steve happened to turnaround, and look down the hill. 

“‘Gosh, Jack!’ he exclaimed, ‘the barn’s afire. ’

“I gave one startled look, and then ran for the hose. 

“‘Get Nelly out!’ I cried to Steve; but after a second look, I called, ‘No, don’t you do it! Let her go! it’s too late!’

“‘I won’t let her go!’ he shouted; ‘do you think I’ll stand by and seeNelly burned to death!’

“‘You’d be a fool to go in now! Look at that stable! Here! Stand back!Have you lost your wits?’

“‘Let me go!’ he cried; ‘Jack, get out of the way!’

“But I threw him down and held him. I was bigger than he; older, andcooler-headed too. 

“‘There, I give in, ’ he said in a moment; ‘it’s wicked to lose time thisway. Let me up, Jack, and we’ll get the hose. I promise you I won’t goin. ’

“We ran for the hose, and turned on all the water we could command, andby this time mother and the servant girl had come from the house, andwere helping us. 

“We could hear Nelly struggling in her stall, and I tell you it made ussick! Unluckily we had chained her, in anticipation of her trying to getloose, and go after Prince. She’d never been left at home this waybefore, and we’d taken extra pains to secure her. 

“The stable doors were fastened by a heavy bolt; again and again I triedto push it back, but it was so fiery hot I couldn’t touch it, and when Itried to hammer it, the flames drove me off. 

“There was nothing for it but to leave poor Nelly to her fate. It seemedas if she divined our intent, for, as we turned away, she uttered apiercing scream. Mother burst into tears. 

“‘I can’t stand it, ’ she said, covering her ears. 

“Again and again Nelly’s voice rang out. Steve stood there, his facedrawn and white. All at once he took out his watch. 

“‘It’s twelve o’clock!’ he cried; ‘father’ll be home in a moment, andif Prince hears Nelly he’ll go mad. Head ’em off, Jack!’

“I didn’t wait for another word, but ran with all my might down the roadby which they always came. 

“As fate would have it, they had chosen the other one that day, and werewell along, before I caught sight of them. Father had taken Prince outof the plow, and harnessed him to a little single-seated gig we had. Hewas driving him, and Ned was walking behind. I saw Steve running towardthem, but he was still at a distance. 

“‘Father, ’ I yelled at the top of my voice, ‘stop! father! the stable’son fire. Turn Prince back. Nelly is burning!’

“Father didn’t seem to understand, for although he listened, he keptdriving slowly on. 

“I shouted again, running toward them, and gesticulating frantically. All at once Ned caught my meaning, and bounding like a deer in front ofthe gig, grabbed Prince by the head to turn him, but at that very momenta terrible scream from poor Nelly split our ears, and in less time thanit takes to tell there was a maddened horse plunging in midair, withfour strong men clinging to him, trying to hold him back. 

“‘Let him go, boys! Let him go!’ shouted father; ‘it’s no use! Let himgo, I tell you! He’ll kill us all!’

“‘Oh, God! I can’t let the old fellow burn up!’ sobbed Steve. 

“But Prince had begun to lay about him with his teeth, and fatherknocked Steve down to get him out of the way. 

“I believe we all sobbed, as we watched the old hero go up that hill andinto the stable; Nelly was quiet now, and the doors were down. 

“We heard him groan once or twice, and then mother came to meet us, andtook us all into the house. 

“It’s out yonder—the monument we put up. It’s over both of them. ”

“Well, what has that horse story to do with men?” asked a sneeringvoice, when I had finished my little tale, and Mrs. Purblind and I weresitting silent. 

I turned, and to my astonishment and disgust saw Mrs. Cynic, who hadcome in quietly, unobserved by me, as I was reading. 

I should not have answered her a word, but Mrs. Purblind thought toavert an awkward situation, so she said:

“It illustrates the devotion of the masculine nature, I suppose. ”

“In horses? Yes; it’s a pity that it hasn’t been evoluted into men. ”

“It has, ” I answered curtly, “for those who are capable of seeing andappreciating it. ”

This probably made her angry, for she turned on me with her most evilexpression:

“It’s a mystery to me why, with your overweening admiration for theother sex, you haven’t married, Miss Leigh. You must have had countlessopportunities; child-like faith, such as yours, must be very attractiveto them. ”

I stared at her a moment in silence; her insolence stupefied me. Then Ithink I opened the nearest window, and pitched her out. Mrs. Purblindinsists I did not do that, exactly, but that I got rid of her. As shehasn’t been in since, a desirable result was obtained, and I don’t muchcare what the method may have been. 

I aired my house the rest of the day, having a wish to cleanse it, andprotect my moral nature, much as one would rid a place of sewer gas, toprotect the physical being. 

I was not in a very good temper after all this, and it annoyed me to seeRandolph Chance coming in before taking his train. He had been callingoftener than usual of late, but he didn’t seem to have much to say, andso his coming gave no especial pleasure. 

To-day what talk we had ran on flowers for a time, when Mr. Chance, awkwardly and out-of-placedly, asked me how I liked the _Reve d’or_rose. This was the kind of rose I had received every morning, during myillness. 

I looked at him inquiringly. I confess my heart was beating faster. 

He flushed, and said abruptly:

“You must have known I sent you those. ”

“I did not, ” I answered rather coldly; “there was no card or note withthem. ”

“I thought you’d know, ” he said with increasing embarrassment; and thenhe added, almost desperately, “you must know, Constance, that I loveyou. ”

“I know nothing, ” I replied, drawing myself up haughtily; “I takenothing of this kind for granted. If you want me to understand, you mustcome out openly. ”

“I have done enough, surely, ” he said, “enough to lead you to guess thetruth. ”

“I guess nothing of this sort!” I reiterated; “what right have you toplace me in this position? What right have you, or any other man todeprive a woman of one of her dearest privileges—that of being wooed?”

“Constance!” he cried, and all his embarrassment was gone, “aren’t therea thousand ways of saying ‘I love you?’ and haven’t I said it in everyway but one?”

“That one was the most important of all, ” I answered; “I would havegiven more to hear those words than to receive every other token. ”

His face lighted up with a sudden flash, and he started impulsivelytoward me. 

“Then you _do_ love me, my darling—I have hardly dared to hope. ”

But I drew back, and answered passionately, “No, I do not! I love no man who can trifle with a young girl, or anywoman—no man who has the effrontery to expect some one to take forgranted a courtship that has never existed!”

“For Heaven’s sake, what _do_ you mean?”

“Go to Miss Sprig and inquire; she has more reason to take your lovefor granted than I. ”

“I’ll not go to her, but I shall leave you, ” he said, with a white face. “You certainly don’t care for me, or you would never deal me such anunjust thrust as this. ”

And then I heard him close the front door. I think the neighborhoodheard him. 

I walked to the window. He was gone. 

I told myself I was glad of it—that a good lesson had been taught. 

Which of us was teacher remained somewhat obscure. 

 XII

It might reasonably be supposed that the event last narrated disturbedmy life. It did in a measure, and for a time, but I was not very long inbringing it back to its accustomed channel. 

Strange as it may seem, although we lived across the street from oneanother, I saw nothing of Mr. Chance for many weeks. Perhaps it is notstrange though, after all, since each of us was taking pains to avoidthe other, and we knew each other’s habits of life pretty well by thistime. 

But if I didn’t see him, I heard of him frequently enough, for Mrs. Purblind rarely ever met me without saying something about “Dolph, ” asshe called him. She was exceedingly fond of him, and with good cause, for he was a most affectionate, thoughtful, unselfish brother. He wasvery different from her, and they were not confidential friends, whenserious matters were concerned, but they were companionable, nevertheless. 

It is not likely Mrs. Purblind realized that she was shut out fromsomething that deeply concerned her brother; but she worried about him. She was certain he was ill—he had little appetite, and was in no waylike himself, she said. Miss Sprig wondered what had come over him. 

I believe Mrs. Purblind must have been deaf as well as blind, otherwisethe neighborhood gossip regarding Mr. Chance and myself, which was rifea year ago, would certainly have reached her. Evidently she had heardnothing, and she continued to keep my innermost breast in a secretferment, by pouring her fears and speculations into my ear. She evenconfided in me that she had for a long time suspected the existence ofan affair between Miss Sprig and her brother, but this young womandeclared that he never paid her the slightest attention of a matrimonialcharacter; that he’d been very kind to her, very jolly, and friendly, but that was all. 

I think that if Mount Vesuvius had leaped out of me, and taken itsdeparture, I could scarce have felt more relieved. I really had beenharboring a volcano for some time, and it was a hot tenant. 

Shortly after hearing this latter piece of Mrs. Purblind’s news, anotherbit was added. 

“Dolph has gone away, ” she said, one day; “left suddenly, this morning. He confessed to being played out, and I’m sure he looks it. He’s gone onto Buffalo, to brother Dave’s. ”

That night I sat down and wrote a letter; when one has done wrong, hisfirst conscious act should be to confess. 

I was in a trying position; one is at such a time. Two months hadelapsed, and Mr. Chance might have changed his mind and intent. Men do, occasionally; women, too. And indeed he never had asked me to marry him. True, that is the supposition when a man, with any real manhood abouthim, tells a woman he loves her—when he shows her marked attentions, infact; but, as I said to Mr. Chance, I did not intend to take such thingsfor granted. I had not changed in that respect. I had, however, becomeconvinced that I was harsh and unjust to him. It is a blundering teacherwho takes badness in a child for granted—does not wait for proof. It isan inspired teacher who ignores the bad sometimes, even after it hasbeen proven. To think the worst, so some of the psychologists tell us, will often create the worst. Even a cook does well to make the most ofher materials. Her dishes will be likely to turn out ill, if she treatsthe ingredients with disrespect. It would seem that I, who had in amanner made a specialty of matrimonial cookery, had something yet tolearn. Randolph Chance had given me a lesson. 

In my letter, I said that time and thought had shown me I had done him awrong, and that I was very sorry; that, no doubt, he had changed in somefeelings, and it was, perhaps, not likely we should meet very soon; butthat I wished him to know I realized my mistake, and that I was stillhis friend. 

The second day after I had written, I heard from him; our letters werepenned the same night, and must have crossed each other. In his he saidhe had held off as long as he could, but was coming right back fromBuffalo to see me. He was certain he could explain everything; he hadnothing to hide, and he hoped I would let him tell me what was in hisheart; that for months he had known but one real wish, one realaspiration—to win me for his wife. He begged me to let him begin anew, and make an effort to attain this great end. 

That evening, in the gloaming, I was at my study window. I could lookinto the parlor of the Thrush home. A shadow had fallen upon that dearnest; one of the little birdies had flown away, but it was now foreversheltered from all storms in the dear Christ’s bosom, so all was well. The gentle little mother was nearly crushed at first, even more so thanthe father, though he felt the loss deeply; but erelong she lifted hersweet face, and smiled through her tears. And now, at the end of twoweeks, she was to her husband, at least, as cheerful as ever, even moretender, and she made the home as bright as before. So many women areselfish in their grief, unwise too. They act as if their husbands werealiens, and did not share the sorrow. It is true the man usuallyrecovers sooner than the woman from such a blow, but no one should blamehim for that. His nature is different, necessarily different; not inkind, but in degree. It has to be; his is the outside battle; he mustneeds be rugged. But “a man’s a man for a’ that, ” and the woman whoshuts him out in the hour of bereavement, or who darkens the homecontinuously, and overcasts its good cheer, is both selfish and foolish. In such cases husband and wife are parted, instead of being broughtnearer to one another, as they should be when they have a littleambassador in the court of Heaven. 

My heart was very tender that evening, and as I sat beside the glowingfire, before the lamps were lighted, my thoughts ran to Mrs. Purblind. The poor little woman had seemed sad of late, and I guessed, withoutword from her, that it was because her husband was going out so much atnight. I did wish she could see some things as they really were. 

She sat there with me that evening—in spirit, at least, on the oppositeside of the fireplace, and her mournful face touched me deeply. 

“He doesn’t seem to care for his home, ” she said sadly. 

“Make him care for it. Man is a domestic animal. If he doesn’t stay athome, something is wrong. ”

“I do all I can, ” she answered in a dull tone. 

“No doubt you do now, ” I said; “but learn more, and then you willimprove. ”

“I was looking over some trunks in the attic to-day, and I came acrossmy wedding gown. It called up so much! I can’t get over it—” and shesobbed aloud. 

I couldn’t speak just then. The tears were too near. 

“Oh, when first I wore that gown, how happy I was, and how I lookedforward to the future! Everything was bright then, but now it’s sochanged that I’d hardly know it was the same—it isn’t the same—I’m notthe same, either——”

Here she broke down again. 

I leaned over, and laid my hand on hers. You know she wasn’t reallythere; the real Mrs. Purblind seldom talked over her affairs with me, but I could feel what she was suffering, none the less. 

“I want to tell you something, if I may, ” I said. 

She assented in a dumb sort of fashion, and I leaned a little nearer. 

The firelight gleamed on the walls, and in its glow the pictures lookeddown kindly upon us. Soft shadows rested in the corners of the room, andan air of peace and comfort brooded throughout, as a bird upon her nest. 

“Think a little while, ” I said gently; “think of his side. Is he quitethe same as he was when he married?”

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed; “he was so loving and attentive then. ”

“Had he any hopes and plans? Enthusiasm? Did life look bright to him?”

A serious look traversed her face, as though she were entertaining a newthought. 

“Look at him as he used to be, ” I continued. 

And as I spoke, she saw that a young man with a fresh, sunny face—ahealthy, happy, care-free face—was sitting in the ruddy firelight. 

She gave a start. 

“That is Joe as he used to be!” she said. “Oh, how he’s changed!”

Even as she spoke, the young man faded away, and an older man—mucholder, apparently, careworn, and unhappy-looking—took his place. 

The coals in the glowing grate sank, and the bright light suddenly died. A deep shadow rested upon the figure beside us; he was with us, and yetseemed so alone. 

“Who would think a man could change that way in ten years!” exclaimedMrs. Purblind; “would you believe it possible?”

“Not unless he had known many disappointments, and borne loads and caresbeyond his years. ”

“I have never thought of that, ” she murmured, “I believe poor Joe hasbeen disappointed too. ”

“He certainly has. ”

“It’s too bad, and there’s no help for it now, ” she added with a sob. 

“Don’t say that, ” I urged, laying my hand on hers again; “you close thegate of heaven when you say ‘no hope. ’ There is always hope as long asthere is a spark of life—any physician will tell you that. If you can bepatient—be strong to bear, and wait—if you can make home bright, and notcare, or not seem to care if he slights it and you, for weeks—months, maybe years—it takes so much longer to undo, than to do—there is _every_hope. He couldn’t do this, but a woman—a real woman, is strong enough, with God on her side. ”

The dullness left her face, and an unselfish light dawned in its place. As she rose to go, she leaned over the other figure, and he looked up ather, with something of the old-time love. 

I replenished the fire after they had gone—they went out together—and asI sat there thinking of it all, I heard a sudden rushing sound in thestreet. 

I ran to the door, just in time to see a farm wagon, drawn by two stronghorses, go pell-mell past my house, and overturn, as the frightenedanimals dashed around the corner. The neighborhood was agog in a moment, and I joined the rest in trying to help the occupants of the brokenvehicle. We brought them into the house—the man and woman and a littlechild. 

As soon as they were in the light, I knew them; they were some of mypeople—a German family, by the name of Abraham, who lived on a littlefarm just outside our suburb. They had been to me typicalrepresentatives of a stupid class, who have all the hardships of life, and none of its soft lights and shades. They were the kind that planttheir pig-sty on the lake side of their house—put the pig-sty betwixtthem and every other beauty, it seemed to me. What can life hold forsuch people? They know nothing of love, or any other joy. Merely ananimal existence is theirs. 

We fetched a doctor as speedily as possible—the parents were merelybruised, but the little child was badly hurt. At first we feared she wasdying, and it was a relief to be told that she would probably live. 

I went out of the room to get some bandages, and the doctor followed me. Returning suddenly, I ran upon an unexpected scene; up to that time, before us all, the parents had seemed perfectly stolid; but just as Iopened the door, the wife and mother rose from her knees by the bed, andI have seldom seen a look more expressive of tender love than that withwhich her husband took her in his arms. 

We have many things to learn in the next world; one of these, I am sure, will be, not to judge by the life upon the surface. There is a deepfount of feeling beneath, and often it is those whom we least suspect, who dip down into it. 

I was still busy with these people, when Randolph Chance walked in uponme. His kind heart needed no prompting to join in our little attentions, and he was of especial use in getting a vehicle to take the family home. 

After they had gone, and we found ourselves alone, a great embarrassmentseemed to seize him in a fatal grasp. 

By and by I realized that I was really getting incensed, and I wasafraid I should soon be in the position of the man who went to another, whom he had ill-treated, to apologize for his bad conduct, and, “ByJove, sir”—to use his own phrase, “I hit him again. ”

I tried to keep my letter before my eyes. I didn’t want to be forced bythat inexorable tyrant—conscience—to write another. And I should, if Ididn’t hold on to myself, and this man didn’t behave differently. 

To avoid a clash, I set to work to clear away some of the confusionconsequent upon the accident, and he helped me in this. 

One would suppose that might serve to cool him, and it did indeed, tosuch an extent that, upon our settling down again, he began the mostcommonplace conversation, giving me some incidents of his trip;discussing the scenery; weather; population, and general aspects ofBuffalo; with much more of the dryest, most disagreeable stuff, that aman ever had the temerity to use, as a means of wasting a woman’sevening. 

To employ a childish phrase—it best fits the occasion—I grew madder andmadder, until at last matters within me rose to such a height, that whenhe began to tell of his brother’s house in Buffalo, and to dwell uponthe peculiarities of its furniture, I felt peculiar enough to hurl allof mine at him. 

The number of things I thought of that evening would form a library ofenergetic literature. Among other resolves, I determined from that dayon, if I lived till my hair whitened—lived till I raised my third orfourth crop of teeth, never, _never_, to give Randolph Chance anotherthought. There was one comfort: he did not know, nor did any one else, what a complete goose I had made of myself; but, though I _had_ beenmost foolish, thanks to a sober, Puritanic ancestry, I still had myselfin hand; my hysterics had been occasional and secluded, and I was notwholly gone daft. I could recover; I would! and then, if ever he came tomy feet, he would learn that some things don’t rise, after once they arecold. 

I was calm enough when he at last decided to go, and instead of runningon excitedly, as I had been vaguely conscious of doing part of theevening, I really conversed. Indeed, to speak modestly, I think I wasrather interesting. I had forgotten what he had called for. So hadhe—apparently. 

All I hoped was that he did not intend to bore me with frequentrepetitions of this call. I had better use for my evenings than suchwaste of time as chatting with him. I cast about me for some suitableexcuse to shut off future inflictions, and at last hit upon one that Ithought might answer. 

“I suppose I must sacrifice myself for a while, ” I said cheerfully; “Ihave had a deal of business swoop down upon me, and in order to dispatchit, must shut myself up for a time, and forego the joys of society. ”

Instantly his old embarrassment came back upon him, as a small boy’senemy—supposed to be vanquished—darts around the corner, and renews theattack. 

He started to go; came back; returned to the door; again came back;colored vividly—looked at me imploringly. And as I looked at him myanger, my coldness—all vanished, and I exclaimed:

“Randolph Chance, why _don’t_ you say it!”

“Some things are awfully hard to say. I can write—— Oh Constance! youmight have mercy on me!”

“Well, ” I said, laughing—I could almost see the light upon my face—“Isuppose you want me to marry you. ”

“You can’t get away now!” he cried, a second later. 

The walls heard a much-smothered voice—

“I don’t want to. ”

Now this little scene, I suppose, is what makes Randolph always say Iproposed to him. This remark, oft repeated, sometimes under very tryingcircumstances, is his one disagreeableness. But I let it pass withoutcomment, for I realize it is the spout to the kettle, and I am thankfulthat the steam has so safe and harmless an outlet. If I were to boil himtoo hard, he would probably overflow, and dim the fire; but I am _verycautious_, and love still burns with a clear, bright flame. 

 THE END. 

[Transcriber’s Note: The table below lists all corrections applied tothe original text. 

p. 032: [removed stray quote] “I didn’t care for this picnicp. 050: [normalized] they were wellnigh exhausted -> well-nighp. 056: [extra comma] any comment on her neighbors’ affairs, was alien to her. P. 152: Their’s is the place -> Theirsp. 182: [added speaker change] beyond his years. I have never thoughtp. 187: [normalized] most common-place conversation -> commonplacep. 189: [changed to long dash] I can write—— Oh Constance! ]