26210-h/26210-h.htm

Project Gutenberg's How to Cook Husbands, by Elizabeth Strong Worthington

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Title: How to Cook Husbands

Author: Elizabeth Strong Worthington

Release Date: August 7, 2008 [EBook #26210]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOW TO COOK HUSBANDS ***

Produced by Irma Spehar, Markus Brenner and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

[5]

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

[6]COPYRIGHT IN THE YEAR

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND

NINETY-EIGHT BY DODGE

STATIONERY COMPANY

[7]Dedication

To a dear little girl who will some

day, I hope, be skilled in all branches

of matrimonial cookery.

[9]I

A while ago I came across a newspaperclippinga recipe written by a Baltimoreladythat had long lain dormantin my desk. It ran as follows:

A great many husbands are spoiled bymismanagement. Some women go aboutit as if their husbands were bladders, andblow them up; others keep them constantlyin hot water; others let them freeze, bytheir carelessness and indifference. Somekeep them in a stew, by irritating ways andwords; others roast them; some keep themin pickle all their lives. Now it is not tobe supposed that any husband will be good,managed in this wayturnips wouldnt;[10]onions wouldnt; cabbage-heads wouldnt,and husbands wont; but they are reallydelicious when properly treated.

In selecting your husband you shouldnot be guided by the silvery appearance,as in buying mackerel, or by the goldentint, as if you wanted salmon. Be sure toselect him yourself, as taste differs. Andby the way, dont go to market for him,as the best are always brought to yourdoor.

It is far better to have none, unlessyou patiently learn to cook him. A preservingkettle of the finest porcelain is thebest, but if you have nothing but anearthenware pipkin, it will do, with care.

See that the linen, in which you wraphim, is nicely washed and mended, withthe required amount of buttons and strings,nicely sewed on. Tie him in the kettlewith a strong cord called Comfort, as theone called Duty is apt to be weak. Theysometimes fly out of the kettle, and becomeburned and crusty on the edges, since, like[11]crabs and oysters, you have to cook themalive.

Make a clear, strong, steady fire out ofLove, Neatness, and Cheerfulness. Sethim as near this as seems to agree with him.If he sputters and fizzles, dont be anxious;some husbands do this till they are quitedone. Add a little sugar, in the form ofwhat confectioners call Kisses, but no vinegaror pepper on any account. A littlespice improves them, but it must be usedwith judgment.

Dont stick any sharp instrument intohim, to see if he is becoming tender. Stirhim gently; watching the while lest heshould lie too close to the kettle, and so becomeinert and useless.

You cannot fail to know when he isdone. If thus treated, you will find himvery digestible, agreeing nicely with youand the children.

So they are better cooked, I said tomyself, that is why we hear of suchnumbers of cases of marital indigestionthe[12]husbands are served rawfreshunprepared.

They are really delicious when properlytreated,I wonder if that is so.

But I must pause here to tell you a bitabout myself. I am not an old maid, but,at the time this occurs, I am unmarried,and I am thirty-four years oldnotquite beyond the pale of hope. Men andwomen never do pass beyond thatnotthose of sanguine temperament at any rate.I am neither rich nor poor, but repose in acomfortable stratum betwixt and between.I keep house, or rather it keeps me, and arespectable woman who, with her husband,manages my domestic affairs, lendsthe odor of sanctity and propriety to mysingle existence. I am of medium height,between blond and brunette, and am said tohave a modicum of both brains and goodlooks.

The recipe I read set me a-thinking.I was in my library, before a big log fire.The room was comfortable; glowing with[13]rich, warm firelight at that moment, butit was lonesome, and I was lonely.

Supposing, I said to myself, I really hada husband; how should I cook him?

The words of an old lady came into mymind. She had listened to this particularrecipe, and after a moments silence hadleaned over, and whispered in my ear:

First catch your fish.

But supposing he were now caught, andseated in that rocker across from me, beforethis blazing fire.

I walked to the windowto one side ofme lives a little thrush, at least she is trimand comely, and always dresses in brown.Just now she is without her door, stoopingover her baby, who is sitting like a tinyqueen in her chariot, just returned froman airing.

It isnt the question of husband alonehemight be managedroasted, stewed, orparboiled, but its the whole familyahousehold. Take the children, for instance;if they could be set up on shelves in[14]glass cases, as fast as they came, all mightbe well, but they will run around, andHeaven only knows what they will runinto. Why, had I children, I should plugboth ears with cotton, for fear I shouldhear the door-bell. I know it would ringconstantly, and such messages as thesewould be hurled in:

Several of them have been arrested forblowing up the neighbors with dynamitefirecrackers.

Half a dozen of them have tumbled fromoff the roof of the house. They escapedinjury, but have thrown a nervous lady,over the way, into spasms.

One or two of them have just beendragged from beneath the electric cars.They seem to be as well as ever, but threeof the passengers died of fright.

Just think of that! What should I do?

Keep an extra maid to answer the bell,I suppose, and two or three thousand dollarsby me continually, to pay damages.

What a time poor Job had of it answering[15]his door bell, and how very unpleasantit must have been to receive so many piecesof news of that sort, in one morning!

Clearly I am better off in my childlesscondition, and yet

Little Mrs. Thrush is just kissing hersoft, round-faced cherub. I wish shewould 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 wouldnt. What then?

Cudgels are out of date. Were he analderman, I might take a Womans Clubto him, but a husband has been known tolaugh this instrument to scorn.

But supposing he sat down. Whatthen? He might be a gentleman of irascible,nasty temper, and in walking aboutmy room, I might step on his feet. Theseirritable folk have such large feet, at leastthey are always in the way, and alwaysbeing stepped on no matter how carefulone tries to be.

[16]What then?

I decline to contemplate the scene.

Plainly I am better off single.

I walk to my front window, and stretchmy arms above my head. There is alight fall of snow upon the ground. Thislate snow is trying: in its season, it isbeautiful; but out of season, it breeds acheerlessness that emphasises ones loneliness.I look out through the leafless treestoward the lake, but it is hidden by thewhirling, eddying snowflakes. I see Mr.Thrush hurrying home to his little nest.

Yes, I say to myself, repeating mylast thought with a certain obstinacy,yes, I am better off without a husband,and yet I wish I had oneone would answer,on a pinchone at a time, at least.A husband is like a world in that respect;one at a time, is the proper proportion.

Its far better to have none, unless youlearn to cook him. These words recurredto me, just as I was on the point oftaking a life partner, in a figurative sense.

[17]The woman that deliberates is lost; consequently,as it wont do to think the matterover, I plunge in.

My spouse is now pacing up and downthe room in a rampant manner, complainingof his dinner, the world in general,and me in particular.

What am I to do?

Charles Reade has written a recipe thatapplies very well just here. It is brieflyexpressed:

Put yourself in his place.

I could not have done this a few yearsago, but now I can. Never, until I undertookthe management of my businessaffairsnever until I had some knowledgeof business cares and anxieties, the weightof notes falling due; the charge of businesshonor to keep; the excited hope offortunate prospects; and the depressionfollowing hard upon failure and disappointmentneveruntil I learned all this,did I realize what home should mean to aman, and how far wide of the mark many[18]women shoot, when they aim to establisha restful retreat for their husbands.

I have returned to my domicile, after afatiguing day up town, with a feeling ofexhaustion that lies far deeper than themere physical structurea spent feelingas if I have given my all, and must be replenishedbefore I can make anothermove. I once had a housekeeper whosevery face I dreaded at such times. Shealways took advantage of my silence andmy limp condition, to relate the days disasters.She had no knowledge of what agood dinner meant, and no tact in fallingin with my tastes 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 very moment Ireached home, she did nothing but brushmy fur up, instead of down, and I didnothing but spit at her.

Now, many women are like this housekeeper.I wonder their husbands dontslay them. If you would look out in my[19]back yard, I fear you would see the bonesof several of these tactless, exasperatinghousekeepers, bleaching in the wind andrain.

I marvel that other back yards are notfilled with the bones of stupid, tactless,irritating wives. The fact that no suchhorror has as yet been unearthed, bearseloquent testimony to the noble self-controland patience of many of the sterner sex.

Oh, that sounds well, said my neighbor,over the way, but then you forgetwe women have our trials too.

Is it going to diminish those trials tomake a raging lion out of your husband?

No, but he ought to understand thatwe are tired, and that our work is hard.

Certainly, I said, by all means; andby the time he thoroughly understands,you generally have occasion to be stillmore tired.

Well, what would you do?

Ill tell you what Id do; follow theadvice of a sensible little friend of mine,[20]who has four children all of an age, andhas incompetent service to rely on, whenshe has any at all.

And what is that, pray?

She says that come rain, hail, or fieryvapor, she takes a nap every day.

I dont know how she manages it; Icant, and I have one less child than she,and a fairly good maid.

Her children are trained, as childrenshould be; the three younger ones takelong naps after luncheon, and while theyare sleeping, she gives the oldest childsome picture book to look at, and simplestories to read, and she herself goes tosleep 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 shelet him have his liberty, and stayed up totake care of him, and then became so tiredout that, by the time her husband camehome she would be unable to keep hermouth (closed for it is only a well rested[21]woman who can maintain a cheerfulsilence), and avoid a family quarrel.

No, I think its better not to quarrel,but I cant take a nap, and often Im sotired when Fred comes home, that, if hehappens to be tired too, its just like puttingfire to gunpowder.

I knew that, for I had heard the explosionsfrom across the street. You knowin our climate, in the summer, peoplepractically live in the street, with everywindow and door open; your neighbor hasfull possession of all remarks above E.And most of Mr. and Mrs. Purblindsnotes on the tired nights, are above E.

I have no patience with that woman,anyhow. She hasnt the first idea of comfortand good cheer. Her rooms are alwaysin disorder, and there is no suggestionof harmony in the furniture (on thecontrary every article seems, as the Frenchsay, to be swearing at every other article);all her lights are highwhy, Ive run inthere of an evening and found that man[22]wandering around like an uneasy ghost,trying to find some easy spot in which hecould sit down, and read his paper comfortably.He didnt know what was thematterthe poor wretches dont, but hewas like a cat on an unswept hearth.

In contrast to this womans stupidity,I have the natural loveliness of the littlebrown thrush, on my one side, and thehoary-headed wisdom of Mrs. Owl, on myother side.

Look at the latter a moment. Notworth looking at, you say; angular, withoutbeauty of form or feature. Nothingbut the humorous curve to her lips, andthe twinkle in her eye, to attract one;nothing, unless it were a general air ofneatness, intelligence, and good humor.

But I assure you that womans worthliving with if she is not worth looking at!

Now her spouse is one of those loweringfellows, the kind that seems to be at outswith mankind. Just the material to becomesulky in any but the most skillful[23]hands, the sort to degenerate into a positivebrute, in such blundering hands asMrs. Purblinds over the way.

I had a chance to watch this man oneevening last summer. Having no domesticaffairs of my own, as a matter of course Ifeel myself entitled to share my neighbors.And this particular evening I was lonely.It was a nasty night, the fog blown in fromthe lake slapped one rudely in the faceevery time one looked out, and the air wasas raw as a new woundit went clear tothe bone.

Now on such a night as this I haveknown Mrs. Purblind to serve her lordcold veal and lettuce, simple because it wasJuly, and a suitable time for heat. AndI assure you that sufficient heat was generatedbefore this cold supper was consumed.But to return to Mrs. Owl, onthat particular night. I saw her watchingat door and window, for her partner waslate. I peeped into the parlor, and it wasas cosy and inviting as a glowing fire, a[24]shaded lamp, and a comfortable sofawheeled near the table, could make it.

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

Oh, how late you are! Whats thematter? What kept you? Well, come in,you must be cold. Lie down on the sofawhile I get supper, but dont put your feetup till I get a paper for them to rest on.

All this would have answered wellenough with a decent sort of a man, butthis homo required peculiar treatment.

It was what she didnt say that wasmost remarkable.

After a cheerful How-de-do she didntspeak a word for some time, but walkedinto the house humming a lively air, andbusied herself with his supper. She didntset this in the dining room, but right beforethat open fire. Without any fuss orcommotion she broiled a piece of steakover those glowing coals, while over herbig lamp she made a cup of coffee, and in[25]her chafing dish prepared some creamedpotatoes. She had bread and butter ready,and some little dessert, and so with a waveof a fairy wand, as it seemed, there wasthe cosiest, most tempting little supper youever 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 downwhen supper was announced, and shejoined him at the table; poured his coffee,ate a bit now and then for company,and talkedwhy, how that woman didtalk! I couldnt hear a word that she said,but I knew by the expression of her face itwas humorous; and laugh, how shelaughed! and erelong he joined inwhy,once he leaned back, and actually ha-haed.

When supper was over, she left him tohis paper again, while she cleared everythingaway. Later on she joined him,and the next I knew they were playingchess, and still later, talking and readingaloud.

[26]This is but a sample of her life with himineverything she consults his mood, hiscomfort, his tastes. She never jars himneverrubs him the wrong way, and meanwhileshe has all she wants, for she can doanything with him, and he thinks the sunrises and sets with her.

It is a good cook that makes an appetizingdish out of poor material, and when awoman makes a delicious husband out oflittle or nothing she may rank as a chef.

[27]II

You may say all I have been describingbelongs more properly to little Mrs.Thrush, on my right. Bless you! thatwoman doesnt have to think and plan tomake things comfortable. Were she setdown in the desert of Sahara, she wouldsweep it up, spread a rug; hang a fewdraperies, and lo! it would be cosy andhome-like. She cant help being and doingjust right, wherever she is put, and herhusband is just like her, as good as gold.Why, that man would bore a woman ofingenuitya woman who had a genius forcontriving and managing. He doesntneed any cooking; hes ready to serve just[28]as he is, couldnt be improved. Theresabsolutely nothing to be done. Mrs. Owlwould get a divorce from him inside of amonth, on the ground of insipidity. Herfine capabilities for making much out ofnothing, would turn saffron for lack ofuse. Mr. Owl is the mate for her. Toevery man according to his taste; to everywoman according to her need.

I am lying in the hammock, under thesoft maple tree in my side yard, speculatingon all these matters. Summer is nowupon us, for we are in the midst of June.Yesterday was one of Lowells rare days,but this morning the thermometer tookoffense, and rose in fury. I can see thequivering air as it radiates from the dusty,sun-beaten road, and a certain drowsyhum in the atmosphere, palpable only tothe trained ear, tells of the great heat.Some of my neighbors are sitting on theirgalleries, reading or sewing; some, likemyself, are lolling in hammocks; even thevoices of the children have a certain monotonous[29]tone, in harmony with the stupidheaviness of the day. Only the birds andsquirrels show any life or spirit; the formerare twittering above my head, courting, itmay be, or possibly discussing some detailof household economy. They hop frombough to bough, touch up their plumage,and chirp in a cheerful, happy sort offashion, as if this was their especialweather, as indeed it is. Up yonder tree,a squirrel is racing about, in the exuberanceof his glee. He has done up hiswork, no doubt, and now is off for a frolic.I lie here, not a stones throw from him,watching his merry antics, and rejoicingto think how free from fear he is, when allat once the leaves of his tree are cut by aflying missile, and the next second I see mygay fellow tumble headlong from thebough, and fall in a helpless little heap onthe grass. I start up in affright, and heara passing boy call out to another, over theway,

I brought him down, Jim.

[30]Involuntarily I clinch my hands.

You little coward! I exclaim, it isyou who should be brought down! Youare too mean to live.

He laughs brutally, and goes on, whistlingindifferently, while I pick up the deadsquirrel lying at my feet.

I find myself crying, before I know it.Not alone with pity for the squirrel; somethingelse is hurting me.

Is this the masculine nature? I asksome oneI dont know whom.

Perhaps it is one of those questionswhich are flung upward, in a blind kind ofway, and which God sometimes catchesand answers.

Are they made this way? Was itmeant that they should be brutal?

I am still holding the squirrel and thinking,when I hear my name, and turningsee my neighbor over the way, Mrs. Purblindsbrother, standing near me.

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

[31]All men are hateful to me at that moment;to my mind they all have that boysnature, though they keep it under coveruntil they know you well, or have you intheir power.

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

Yes, I answer with a sob which Iturn away to conceal. I dont wish to excitehis mirth. Of course he would onlysee something laughable in my grief, andhe couldnt dream what I am thinkingabout.

You mustnt be too hard on the boy,Miss Leigh, he says quietly; it was abrutal act, but that same aggressivenesswill one day give him power to battle inlife against difficulties and temptations aswell. It will make him able to protectthose whom a kind Providence may put inhis charge. Just now he doesnt knowwhat to do with the force, and evidentlyhas not had good teaching. Im sorry hedid this; it hurts me to see an innocent[32]creature harmed, and still more I am sorrybecause it has hurt you.

He is standing near me now, and as Iraise my eyes, I find him looking at mewith a sweet earnestness, that wins me notonly to forgive him for being a man, butto feel that perhaps men are noble, afterall.

His look and tone linger with me longafter he has gone, as a cadence of musicmay vibrate through the soul when bothmusician and instrument are mute.

The day after this of which I have beentelling, I went to a picnic gotten up byMrs. Purblind, for the entertainment anddelectation of Mr. Purblinds cousin, nowvisiting her, a frivolous young thing, betweenwhom and myself there was noteven the weather in common, for shewould label simply horrid a lovely grayday, containing all sorts of possibilities forthe imagination behind its mists andclouds.

I didnt care for this picnic, and didnt[33]see why I was invited as most of theguests were younger than myself. But itwas one of those cases where a refusalmight be misconstrued, and so I went.We sat around the white tablecloth enmasse, for dinner; and in the course of thepassing of viands, Miss Sprig was askedto help herself to olives that happened tobe near her.

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

I always embrace opportunity, repliedMiss Sprig with a simper. Whereat Mr.Chance, sitting next her, suggested that,as a synonym of opportunity, possibly hemight stand in its stead.

I detest such speeches, they are properlytermed soft, for they certainly are mushylackingin staminafiber of any sort.But I could have endured it, as I had enduredmuch else of the same sort that day,had it not come from Mr. Chance. Itmay be foolish of me, but his tone and hiswords of the day before were still with[34]me. They were so dignified, so sensible,so manly, that I respected and admiredhim. Up to that time I had not felt thatI knew him, but after he spoke in thatway, it seemed as if we were acquainted.Now I saw how utterly mistaken I hadbeen, and I was mortified and disgusted.

The silly little speech I have quotedwas not all, by any means; there weremore of the same kind, and actions thatcorresponded. Evidently he was one ofthose instruments which are played upon atwill by the passing zephyr. With a self-respectingwoman, he was manly; with avapid, bold girl, he was silly and familiar.I decided that I liked something morestable, something that could be dependedupon.

I was placed in a difficult position justthen. Had I acted upon my impulse, Ishould have risen and walked offsuchconduct is an affront to womanhood, Ithink; but I was held in my place by afearfoolish, yet grounded, that my action[35]would be regarded as an expression ofjealousy, the jealousy of an old maid, of awoman much younger and prettier thanherself. This is but one of the many instancesof the injustice of the world. Idont think that I am addicted to jealousy,but I may not know myself. Possibly Imight have felt jealous had I been eclipsedby a beautiful or gifted woman, but itwould be impossible for me to experienceany such emotion on seeing a man withwhom I have but a slight acquaintance,devote himself to a girl whom I shouldregard as not only my mental inferior, butalso as beneath me morally and socially aswell. The only sensation of which I wascognizant was a disgust toward the man,and mortification over the mistaken estimateof his character, that had led me, theday before, to suppose him on a footingwith myself.

As soon as possible after dinner Islipped away for a stroll. The place wasvery lovely, and I felt that if I could creep[36]off with Mother Nature, she would smoothsome cross-grained, fretful wrinkles thatwere gathering in my mind, and were saddeningmy soul. So when the folly andjesting were at their height I dipped intothe thicket near at hand, and dodging hereand there, jumping fallen logs, and untanglingmy way among the vines whichembraced the stern old woods like seductivesirens, I at last struck a shaded path,which erelong led me down through aravine to the waters of the big old lake.It too had dined, but instead of yieldingitself to folly, was taking its siesta.Across its tranquil bosom the zephyrsplayed, stirring ripples and tiny eddies, asdreams may stir lights and shadows on thesleeping face.

I had not walked along the beach, withthe waves sighing at my feet, and whisperingall sorts of soothing nothings, for agreat distance, before I began to experiencethat uncomfortable reaction which sometimesarises from splitting in two, as it[37]were, standing off at a distance and lookingoneself in the face. I realized that Ihad been something of a prig and considerableof a Pharisee. My late discomfortwas not caused by the fact that a younggirl had cheapened herself, but by the factthat a man had demeaned himself and ina manner involved me, inasmuch as I hadbeen led the day before by a false estimateof his character to regard him as my socialequal. After all it was this last that hurtmost; it was my little self and not mybrother about whom I was chiefly concerned.

I am not naturally sentimental or morbid,so I merely decided that internally Ihad made a goose of myself and not shownany surplus of nobility; and with a littlesigh of satisfaction that I had given thesmall world about me no sign of my folly,I dismissed the subject and betook myselfto an eager enjoyment of the day.

The soft June breeze played with myhair and gently and affectionately touched[38]my face; the lake quivering and ripplingwith passing emotions stretched away fromme toward that other shore which it keptsecreted somewhere on its farther side.The very sight of it, with its shimmeringgreens, turquoise blue, and tawny yellow,cooled and soothed me, and ere I knew it,I had slipped into a pleasant, active speculationon matters of larger interest thanthe petty subjects which had lined mybrow a moment before. I was walkingdirectly toward one of my families, and itoccurred to me that I might run in andmake a call, while I was near at hand. Ihad first become interested in them atchurch. I was impressed by their cleanlinessand regularity of attendance, and bya certain judicious arrangement of theirchildrenthe parents always sitting so asto separate the latter by their authorityand order.

Another point that claimed my attentionwas that the children were changedeach Sundaya fresh three succeeding the[39]first bunch, and on the third Sunday, oneof the first three being added to a freshtwo, to make up the proper complement.Both parents had a self-respecting, self-sacrificinglook, as of people who hadlearned to help themselves cautiously fromthe family dish, and to put their knivesto their throats before time; but kept allthis to themselves, asking nothing fromanyone, and making their little answerwithout murmur or complaint. I had,for some time, realized that the child whowas now getting more than his share ofsermons, by reappearing on the third Sunday,would soon be reduced to the level ofhis brethren, and a new relative wouldtake the place which he had been filling asa matter of accommodation. I soughtoccasion to make the acquaintance of themother of this fine brood, on the pretext ofsome church work, and after that becamea regular visitor at their little home. Theperfect equality of the parents; the deferencewith which they treated one another;[40]and their quiet happiness, in spite of alllabor and privation, made me realize thatthey might well extend a pitying thoughtto some of the apparently wealthy membersof the church. We may yet live tosee the day when a new scale shall come invogue, and some Cr[oe]sus who now standsin an enviable light, shall then pass into histrue position, and become an object of pity.Mere dollars and cents are a misleadingcriterion of poverty and wealth.

I had seen my friends, and found thatthe mother and her new nestling were incomparative comfort, and I was on thehomeward stretch along the beach, when Isaw Mr. Chance walking toward me.

I was commissioned to look you up,he said.

Thank you, I replied, I have beenof age for some years.

Of course he noticed the coolness in myvoice, and in some way I divined that heknew the cause.

We went aboard our homeward-boundtrain about 5 oclock.

[41]Mr. Chance helped me on, and evidentlyexpected to sit with me, but I thwartedhim by dropping down beside an elderlylady, an acquaintance who happened to bein that coach. I felt no grudge againsthim, but I didnt care to have him passfrom such a girl as Miss Sprig to me; hisconduct with her impaired his value somewhatin my eyes. My elderly friend sawand recognized the situation, I am sure,and governed her later remarks accordingly.

Mr. Chance passed on, and took a seatwith one of the superfluous men, for contraryto the rule on most such occasions,the male gender was in excess of thefemale. I had not expected him to returnto Miss Sprig; men always become satiatedwith such girls, soon or late.

My elderly acquaintance entered uponan animated conversation, that becamemore and more personal, and finallyreached a climax when she leaned over,and said in a semi-whisper:

[42]My dear Miss Leigh, you ought tomarry.

I had been told this a number of times;any one would suppose, to listen to someof these women, that I had but to put outmy hand, and pluck a man from the nearestbush.

I dont doubt you will marry some day,but Im afraid you may not choose wiselyhereshe lowered her voice againaftera man reaches thirty-five he becomes veryfixed in his ways, and I dont think itssafe for a maiden lady to try to managehim; it needs some one of more experience.

I knew she had Mr. Chance in mind,and I was so indignant at being warnedagainst a man who had never shown thefirst symptom of any such folly as addressingme, that the blood mounted to myhair.

Observing this, my elderly companionwhispered:

I wasnt thinking of any one, in particular,[43]my dear; upon which I grew moreenraged, and the color in my face deepeneduntil I must have resembled an irate oldturkey gobblernot of any one in particular,my dear; but on general principles,I shouldnt advise such a match. A widowerwould be just the thing for you, and therealways are widowers, and every year thelist growsdeath makes inroads, youknow.

This idea, this hope of a second crop, asI had passed beyond the first picking, wascomforting. I knew perfectly well whomshe had in mind for mea nice fat littlewidower, about fifty years old, who hadbeen held on the marital spit, until he wasdone to a turn.

[44]III

The summer was ended, and I was notmarried. I am speaking now from thestandpoint of my neighbors; to my mindlife did not swing on this hinge. I hadmy occupationsthere were a goodly numberof needy folk to be looked after; therewas my reading; my music; my friends,and other pleasures, and altogether I felt Iwas very well off. Not that I was cynicallyopposed to marriage; I intended tomarry, if the right man called, but if hedid not I was content to end life as I hadbegun itin single blessedness.

My neighbors, however, were of anothermindI must marry; and they kept making[45]efforts to find some one who wouldfit, trying on one man after another, withouthis consent or mine, something as onewould attempt to force clothes on a savage.

But in spite of all such friendly officesthe summer was ended, and I was notmarried. I was thinking of it on this particularday, as I stood gazing from thewindowthinking of it with a sort ofquiet wonder, for with an entire neighborhoodintent upon this end, it was rathersurprising that I was not double by thistime. Had they succeeded I should nowoccupy a very different attitude. It isonly old bachelors and old maids whospeculate and theorize on marriage; whenpeople are really about it, they say little,and (it would often appear) think less.

It was a day for speculationthis particularone; the dead leaves were scurryingup the street as people ran for atrain; a gusty wind was carrying all beforeit for the time being, like an overbearingdebater. The trees shook and groaned,[46]recoiled and shuddered, like human creaturesin the blast; in their agitation droppinghosts of leaves that immediatelyslipped under covert, or else joined theirfellows in the race up town. The sky wasnon-committal, and the lake looked darkand secretive, as if it meditated wreck anddisaster.

It was only the middle of September,but there had been several of these daysahint, perchance, of what was to come byand by, as a gay waltz strain sometimesdips into real life, and makes one look inwardfor a moment.

The house did not invite me just at thistime, and the elements did; at least I feltthat rising within me which tempted meforth to have a bout with them.

I was walking at a goodly pace alongthe Boulevardfor I love the lake inall its moodswhen two men with anxiousfaces overtook, and hurried past me.

Theres been a wreck, miss, one ofthema man I knewcalled back.

[47]I quickened my pace, trying to peerthrough the sullen fog, as I ran. Theoccasional dull boom of a gun calledHelp, from out the grayness, withpathetic persistency. Soon another soundcaught my ear, or rather vibrated throughmy frame, for the ground beneath meseemed to tremble, and I turned to see theswift oncoming of the life-saving crewfrom a station below us.

I had barely time to jump one side, beforethe huge wagon, bearing the boat andits men, swept past me, every one of thosesplendid horses with his head lowered, andhis fine muscles set for the race.

It was all done with the celerity andease with which things are accomplishedin dreams. The sudden halting of the bigwagon; the swinging of the boat to theground; the swift donning of the yellowoilskin suits by the crew; the launch, andbefore one had time to wink, the strongstrokes in perfect time, that bore the boatup and down, and up again, on thosetumultuous waves.

[48]There were other spectators beside myself,standing with strained sight andhearing, and throbbing hearts, upon thestrip of beach. And there were otherworkers beside the crew. I had thoughtwe were a small community out there inthe little suburb, and I gazed with wonderthat morning at the crowd which seemedto have dropped from the sky, or come upfrom below.

The men were chiefly from the middleand laboring classes, for the others go inon early trains, but Randolph Chance wasthere, his newspaper work giving him hismornings. We spoke to one another, butentered into no conversation. My thoughtwas with the doomed ship, and so washis.

Will any of you boys join me in takingoff some of those people? he asked themen at hand.

Its a rough sea, Mr. Chance.

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

[49]Dont you think the life-saving crewcan do the work? I asked.

No, he answered shortly, there wontbe time for them to make enough trips.Come, boys, here she goes! Jump in, a halfdozen of you that can pull oars.

There were boats enough, and soonthere were men enough, for the humanheart is kind and brave, and under a goodleader men will walk up to Death himselfwithout flinching.

Randolph Chance was big and strong,alert, and self controlleda good leader.I realized all this just now, as I had notbefore, and I thought how strange it wasthat so much goodness should be bound upwith so much folly. It was the old storyof the wheat and the tares; and I said:An enemy hath done this, and then Ithought of Miss Sprig.

I dont like to dwell on that morning;the experience was new to me, and I cantforget it; I cant rid myself of the soundof those shrieks when the ship went down.[50]She struggled like a human creature undera sudden blowrocked, tottered, quivered,and then collapsed.

The little boats made five trips andbrought ashore almost all the passengersand crewall but one woman, and a littlechild.

I was one of the many who received thechilled and frightened victims of the storm,and indeed, as soon as we were able to disposeof the more delicate and needy ones,we turned our thought to the brave crewsof the little boats, for their exertions hadbeen almost superhuman, and they werewell-nigh exhausted.

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

Give it to the women, he said feebly.

They are all cared for; Im going tolook out for you now, Mr. Chance.

I wouldnt feel so done up, he said,if it werent for that woman. Shebegged me to save her, and she had a littlechild in her arms, and his voice broke.

[51]You mustnt think of her, I said,you did all you could.

Yes, I did my best to reach her, butbefore I could get there, she went down.I can never forget her face. Oh, at sucha time a fellow cant help wishing he werejust a little quicker, and just a littlestronger.

He had risen from the beach where hehad flung himself or fallen, on leaving theboat, but he fell again. I could plainlysee that the exhaustion from which hesuffered was due as much to mental distressas to physical effort, and I thoughtno less of him for that.

He was finally prevailed upon to get intothe wagon which had brought the life-savingcrew, and which was now loaded downwith the other boatmen, and many of thepassengers from the wreck, and so he wastaken home. 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;[52]a good playerthe right woman candraw forth wonderful music, but thewrong woman will call out nothing butdiscords.

Materials dont count for everything;theres a deal in the cooking.

I was on my way home, when I mettwo of my neighbors hurrying toward thesceneMr. and Mrs. Daemon.

Youre too late, I said, its all over.

I only heard of it a little while ago;said Mrs. Daemon; I was in the city, andI met Mr. Daemon who had just been toldthere was a wreck off this shore, and wascoming out to see it, so we both took thefirst train.

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

Their appearance had slipped into myreflections as neatly as a good illustrationslips into a discourse. I must tell youtheir story, and then see if you dare sayman is not a harp, and woman not aharpist.

[53]Years ago, when I was a child, I usedto see my mother wax indignant over thewrongs inflicted upon one of her neighborsagentle little woman whose backboneevidently needed restarching. She wasthe mother of three children, and shouldhave been a most happy wife, for her tasteswere domesticher devotion to her familyunbounded. Unhappily, she was weddedto a man of overbearing, tyrannical temperoneof those ugly natures in whichmeanness is generated by devotion. Themore he realized his power over his poorlittle wife, the more he bullied her, andbeneath this treatment she faded, day byday, until finally she closed her tired,pathetic eyes forever. My mother used tosay she had no doubt the man was overwhelmedby her death, and would havesuffered from remorse, but for the injudiciouszeal of some of the neighbors, whowere so wrought up by this culmination ofyears of injustice and cruelty, that theyattacked him fore and aft, as it were,[54]creating a scandalous scene over the littlewomans remains, accusing him of beingher murderer, and assigning him to thewarmest quarters in the nether world.As a result of this outbreak of public opinionthe man hardened, and assumed a defiantattitude which he continued to maintaintoward the neighbors for some years.In the midst of all this furor, the sister ofthe departed wife walked calm and still.The power of the silent woman has oftenbeen dwelt upon, but I really do not thinkthat half enough has been said, although Iam aware of committing an absurditywhen I recommend voluble speech on thesubject of silence. Jesting and paradoxesaside, however, the silent woman wields apower known only to the man towardwhom her silence is directed.

In this particular case the power was allfor the best. Erelong the sister-in-lawobtained such mastery over the forlornhousehold that she held not only the fateof the little ones, but that of the father aswell, in the hollow of her hand.

[55]Two years slipped by, and then theneighborhood that had dozed off, as itwere, awoke to hear that the sister wasgoing to marry that awful man.

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

It cant be possible, it cried to thewoman.

Yes, it is true, she said.

Why, dont you know that he killedyour sister?

I know he did.

And you are going to marry him, inface of that?

Yes.

Well, hell kill you.

Oh, no, he wont kill methere was apeculiar light in her eyes that puzzled them.

What can you want to marry such aman for? they cried, coming back to theoriginal question.

To keep the children. If I dont marryhim, some one else will, and those childrenwill go out of my hands.

[56]Her devotion to the motherless broodhad been past praise. There was nothingmore to be said, and if there had been itwould have availed nothing, for the sisterhad a mind of her own. She was one ofthose handsome women, who walk thisearth like queens, and to whom lesser folkdefer.

She married, and lo! the neighborhoodwas agog once more, for strange storiescame floating from out that handsomehouse, and it appeared for a time that insteadof his killing her she was like to killhim.

I remember one tale in particular, whichmy mother who, by the way, was no gossip,and was as peaceable as a barnyardfowl, was in the habit of rehearsing beforea chosen few, occasionally, with a quietrelish that was amusing, considering thefact that ordinarily any comment on herneighbors affairs was alien to her. It appearedthat after a short wedding trip,during which the bridegroom had several[57]times shown the cloven foot, the couplereturned to their domicile. Probably themaids who had lived there for some yearsand were devoted to the new wife, hadbeen warned of what was coming. At allevents, they accepted everything as a matterof course.

Upon the evening of the married pairsreturn, a handsome dinner was served.The train was a trifle behind time; theday had been cold, and several other untowardcircumstances had conspired to letloose the bridegrooms natural depravity.An overdone roast served to touch off thisinflammable material.

these servants! he exclaimed; Illkick every one of them through the frontwindow! Look at that roast!

The doors being now open, a perfectstorm of ugly, evil tempers poured forth.

At such times as these it was the customof wife number one to shiver, shrink,imploreweep, then take the offendingroast from the room, and replace it by[58]something else which most likely washurled at her, in the end.

The present Mrs. Daemon neither shiverednor shrank. She knew what to expectwhen she married this man, and shewas ready. The guns were loaded andaimed, and they went off, and presto! theenemy lay dead on the dining room floor.

Instead of a roast beef solo, there was aduet, Mrs. Daemons feminine soprano risingabove her husbands masculine roar.She agreed with what he said as to the dispositionof the servants, only adding thatshe intended to hang them all, before heput them through the front window.

To insult us during our honeymoonwith such a roast, she cried; and lookat this gravy! Its even worse!

And with one swift stroke of her handshe sent the gravy bowl flying from offthe table on to the handsome carpet.

In Heavens name, what are youabout? he bawled.

Do you suppose Id offer you such[59]gravy; it ought to be flung in theirfaces.

He gasped and stammered; thought ofthe recent wedding and regretted it; buthe was married now, and to an awfulshrew!

Soon after dinner they repaired to thedrawing room. In turning from the fireplacehe stumbled against a large, elegantvase.

Confound that thing! he exclaimed,I always did hate those vases that set onthe floor.

So do I! she chimed in, and puttingout her foot with an expressive jerk, shekicked it over, and broke it into a hundredfragments.

Do you see what youve done? hecried, have you forgotten that that vasewas a present from me?

No, I havent, but we both hate it, andwhats the use of keeping it?

This was but the beginning; from thattime on, let him but murmur against a[60]dish, and it was flung on to the floor; torrentsof abuse were poured upon the headof a maid with whom he found fault;some of the handsomest furniture in thehouse was broken, the moment it gaveoffense to him. In no vehemence was healonehis wifes anathemas and abusejoined and exceeded his, untilhe hadenough of itan overdose, in fact, and erelonghe turned a cornercame out of HurricaneGulch into Peaceful Lane, and hehoped the latter would know no turning.The servants whispered of times when hewould tell his wife of guests invited to thehouse, and entreat her not to make a scenewhile they were there.

Sixteen years have gone by, and thiswoman is still above ground; stranger stillthe man is alive as well; and strangest ofall, they are still under the same roof.Indeed, if report and appearance are to betrusted, Mr. Daemon is a model husband,and Mrs. Daemons sudden andamazing temper has spent itself and left[61]her a person of spirit indeed, but in nowiseunamiable, and least of all, an ugly character.

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

Truly, man is a harp, and truly, womandoes the harping.

[62]IV

I have been wandering about to-dayin an apparently aimless fashion, but inreality musing upon many things. Ourhorror of shiftlessness, and our realizationof the responsibilities of life, and of the importantwork Providence has kept savingup for us, or perhaps growing up for us,like Dick Swivillers future mate, is expressedin the fact that if we take an hoursleisure, anywhere betwixt sunrise and sunset,we feel under bonds to explain thematter not only to our own souls, but alsoto those other souls who live adjacent, andtake an everlasting interest in ours.

Consequently, I told myself this day[63]that I was not wellthat I had been overdoing,and that I had best go easy fora spell. After which concession to myinterior governor, I proceeded to apologizeto my neighbors; to call my dogsnot toapologize to them, but to solicit their companyandthen to hie me away to thelake, remembering to walk feebly as longas I was in sight.

I didnt go down to the beach, butplunged into the cool, comforting heart ofa ravine; fathomed its depths, with a feelingof delightful seclusion, and came outon 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 warmtint in my cheeks. At that moment I hopeI looked a trifle like Nature, who was inthe height of her being; in a sort of tropicalluxuriance, like a beautiful woman atthe very summit of maturity and perfection.

[64]I put out my hands toward a clump ofsumachI was not cold, but its brilliantwarmth lured me as does a glowing fire.It permeated my very being, and set mysoul a-throbbing.

There had been rain, and then warmth,and October had caught all the prismaticcolors of the drops of water, and was givingthem forth with Southern prodigality.The birds bent over the swaying daisies,and sang soft love-notes into their great,dark eyes, while I looked on in an ecstasyof wonder and delightthe gold of thedaisies, the gold of the sunlight, and theglow in my heart, seeming in a way allonepart and parcel of the munificenceand cheering love of the Father. It is aglorious world, and it is glorious to livetherein. The very air about methe airI was breathing in, seemed to palpitatecolor and brilliant beauty.

I talked to Duke about it, and he lookedaround him with a certain air of admirationdepicted on his noble, fond old face.[65]Fanchon was frivolous, as usual, andwanted to be running giddily about, huntingrabbits and the like; but I made her sitbeside me, for it seemed a desecrationevery time the October silence of thosewoods was broken by aught save thedropping of a ripened nut, or the whirr ofa homing bird.

It was at the close of this mellow daythat I sat in my library alone, before ahickory fire. Alone, did I say? Nay,Mrs. Simpson sat before me in the oppositerocker. You could not have seen her, orheard her, but she was there, and wascomplaining of Mr. Simpson, saying herarely ever invited her to go anywhere;and as she talked I recalled a certainevening when I had been her guestincludedin an invitation to attend a spectacularentertainment given by the countryclub, at a spot some distance from ourhomes, and I said:

Mrs. Simpson, I can offer you some recipeswhich I warrant you will work infallibly;[66]but they are like the recipe fordetermining the interior condition of eggs,which says, put them in water; if they arebad they will either sink or swimI haveforgotten which. Now try this recipe Iam about to give you, and it will eithermake Mr. Simpson unwilling to take astep in the way of recreation without you,or it will make him stalk forth by himself,as lonely as a crocus in early MarchIhave forgotten which; but try it oftenenough, and you will learn.

Recipe.

Fail to be ready at the appointed time,and keep him waiting until he is eitherraging or sullen; cudgel or dragoon thechildren until their tempers are well onedge. Then complain of the gait taken byMr. Simpson in order to catch the train;declare frequently when aboard that youare tired out, and are sorry you came.After you reach the place, remark everynow and then that you dont think theentertainment amounts to much, and that[67]you do think it was a piece of extravaganceto have given such a price for tickets to so-inferioran exhibition. Next, declare thatyou feel a draft, and are catching yourdeath of cold; interlard all this with frequentdirections to the childrenadmonitionsand complaints, and derogatory remarksabout Mr. Simpsons appearance,and wonderoft-expressed and reiterated,and put in the form of questions whichyou insist upon his answering, as to whyhe didnt wear his other suit of clothes.Finally, wind up the whole affair, by wishingyou were in bed, and announcing youropinion that the trip didnt pay, and youare sure it will make you and the childrenill.

Try this faithfully, and it wont fail toaccomplish something decided.

One more recipe.

I was talking to Mrs. Purblind now;Mrs. Simpson had had her fill, and gonehome; and Mrs. Purblind had taken herplace.

[68]You couldnt have seen herbut thatdoesnt matter.

Recipe.

This is for making a man love to stay athome with you, and inducing him to becheerful and companionable, or for makinghim flee your presence as one wouldflee a plague-stricken city: Ive forgottenwhich, but you will soon discover, if youtry it persistently.

Talk on disagreeable themes, talk persistentlyand ceaselessly; never let up; themore tired he may be the more steadilyyou must talk, and the more irritatingyour theme must be. Go to the gadfly;consider her ways and be wise. Buzz,buzz, buzz; sting, sting, sting.

On his worst nights, always select hisrelatives for your theme; harp upon theirfaults; their failures in life; their humiliations;the unpleasant things people say ofthem. Then if he waxes irritable, expresssurprise; remind him how he used to talkagainst these same relatives, and how[69]much trouble he gave them when he livedat home; add that its plain now that hehas combined with his relatives againstyou, and that you should be surprised ifhe and they didnt effect a separation. Ifhe is still in earshot, pass on to what heonce told you, beginning each remarkwith:

You said that

And then proceed to point out whereinand howin he has utterly failed to makegood his promises. Further, if he is stillin the house, enlarge upon the change youhave noted in his conduct toward youhowdevoted he used to be, and how selfishhe has become. Next, tell him how well-dressedother women are, and how littleyou have on.

By this time, if not sooner, he will rememberthat he has night work clamoringfor him at the office, or that his presenceat the club is absolutely necessary, and itwould be well for you to conclude yourremarks by observing that if he bangs the[70]front door so hard every time he goes out,he will loosen the hinges.

Well now, said Mrs. Purblindtheinvisible Mrs. Purblind (she always wouldlisten to reason, which is more than couldbe said for the visible creature of thatname), well now, I know well enoughwhen I go on that way, that it isnt bestto do it; but the Evil One seems to enterme, and I get going, and I couldnt stopunless I bit my tongue off.

Bite it then, I said, and after that,jump into the lake; were you once there,your virtues would float, and your husbandwould love them; but alive, yourvirtues are beneath water, and your naggingis always on top.

But what is one to do? Supposing allthese things are truesupposing you sufferfrom all these wrongs.

Did you ever right a wrong by settingit before your husband in this way, andat these times?

No.

[71]Did you ever improve your condition?

No. But what would you do?

Shut up. Dip deep into silence. Inthe first place, when you find you havepoor material, take extra care in the cooking;study the art; use all the skill youcan acquire, and finally, if that wont do,if it positively wontif you cant make adecent dish out of him, open the kitchendoor, and heave him into the ash-barrel,and the ash-man will cart him away.

I have traveled a little in my life, andhave been entertained in various households.I have seen wives who deservecrowns of laurel, to compensate for thecrown of thorns they have worn for years;but I have seen others, who had thornsabout them indeed, but they themselveswere not on the sharp end. Someof these stupid, ignorant women fanciedthey were doing everything possible tomake home pleasant, and wondered attheir failure. There they sat, proddingtheir husbands with hat-pins, and grievedover the poor wretches irritability.

[72]I recall a conversation I once overheard.The husband arrived just at dinner time.The wife heard him come in, and called tohim in a faint, dying voice, from the topof the stairway

George, is that you?

The answer was spiritless.

Yes.

The wife came downstairs.

Well, then, we can have dinner. Idont know that its ready, though; Bridgethas had a toothache all day, and shes justgood-for-nothing.

All this in the same faded tone ofvoice.

The husband passed into the parlor, andbegan to read the paper.

The weary tongue of his feminine partnerwagged on, in a dreary sort of way.

I think these girls are so foolish; theyhavent a bit of pluck. Ive been trying topersuade her to go to the dentists andhave her teeth out, but she wont. Imjust tired to death to-night, and theres no[73]end to the work; Bridget has been moaningaround all daywhy her teeth

Oh, bother her teeth!

Why, dont you care to hear anythingthat goes on at home, George?

I dont care to hear about teeth that goon at home; Bridgets teeth especially. Idont care a rap for the whole set.

How cross you are to-night, George!when Im so tired, too. Johnnie, yourface is dirty, go and wash it; be quicknow, for its time for dinner. I dontknow that Bridget will ever call us. Shesprobably sitting out in the kitchen, nursingher teeth; why she has five roots there,and all of them so inflamed that

Bother her roots, I say!

George, you are extremely irascible,but thats the way; I get no sympathy atall.

Not when you want it by the wholesalefor Bridgets roots.

Well, what should we talk about? Idont see how we can ever have conversation[74]in the home, if you wont listen toanything.

And so they went onthe tired husband,moody and irritable, and the tired wife,loquacious about matters of no interest.I felt sorry for her who spake, and himwho heard.

A husband worn out with the cares andworries of an unsatisfactory business day,and a wife harrassed and fretted by overworkand petty annoyances, could succeed intalking pleasantly together only by the useof will-power and principle. It would requirea big effort, but the effort would pay.It would be one of the best investments amarried pair could make. The returnswould be quick and large. I wonder moredont deposit in this bank.

[75]V

I had not forgotten Mr. Chance. Thisfact annoyed me excessively, since I sawthat he had forgotten me. A forgottenman may remember a woman, and preservehis self-respect, if not his merriment;but when a forgotten woman remembers aman, that is quite another thing. Not thatI was brooding over Mr. Chancefar fromit; I thought very little of him, in one way,for I frequently saw him with Miss Sprig;but in spite of all that, I could not quiteforget the impression he made upon methe day those boys killed the gay littlesquirrel, and again the day the poor motherwent down into the deep, dark water with[76]her child held close to her agonized heart.The feeling I experienced for him on thatawful day, was unique in my history. Ihad never been an impressionable girl asfar as men were concernedI was not animpressionable woman. For me to carrythe thought of a man home with meforme to dwell upon this thought, and aboveall to take pleasure in dwelling upon it,meant more than it would have meant forsome women. That was as far as thematter had gone, but it was far enoughtoofar, considering his evident indifference,and I was humiliated, for the firsttime in my life, over my attitude toward aman. This mortification induced me totreat Mr. Chance even more coldly than Ishould have done ordinarily, though histrifling with Miss Sprig would have calledforth some coolness of conduct under anycircumstances.

I had abundant opportunity to expressmyself in this way, for Mr. Chances nightwork necessitated late rising, and I saw[77]him to speak to him almost every morning.Indeed, I took some pains to be inmy garden during the forenoon, and fromthis vantage ground I could not only seemuch that took place between himself andMiss Sprig, but I also had opportunity tospeak with him as he passed my house, onhis way to the train.

Sometimes Miss Sprig walked to thestation with him. He evidently absorbedmuch of her time and thought, and sheevidently regarded him as her latest victim,for she made him a common subjectof talk, and her entire acquaintance hadthe pleasure of hearing the foolish thingshe did and said. She always representedhim as deeply in love with her; I have nodoubt she really thought that he was.

For my own part, I cared very littlewhether he was in love, as it is called, ornot. If he had succumbed to such a shallow-pated,bold, common girl, I felt contemptfor him, and this contempt wasdeepened when I realized that he might be[78]trifling with her. In any event it mortifiedand angered me to think he hadbeen seen with me; (he had often calledupon me and we had been out togetherseveral times), and that the old neighborhoodgossips had coupled our names. Now itwould be reported that Miss Sprig had cutme out; if I was pleasant toward him,they would wag their foolish old heads,and whisper about my efforts to win himback; if I was cool, they would shakethese same empty pates, and prattle aboutmy wounded affections. It was one of thosecases where you cant possibly do the rightthingI mean the thing that will silencethe clacking tongue: consequently, as luckwould have it, I plunged into the worstpossible course I could have taken, forwhen Mrs. Catlin, who lived catacornerfrom me, and who watched me as a catwatches a mouse, said something one dayabout Mr. Chances feeling bound to payattention to Mr. Purblinds cousin, as longas she was visiting there, and that she[79]knew such a girl wasnt to his taste, andshe was sure he would come to his sensessoon, I was so angry that I lost control ofmy temper, and all control of my wits,and blazed out with:

Its none of my business or concernwhom he pays attention to, and for my partI think theyre well mated.

Whereupon, realizing I had made aperfect fool of myself, and that this speechof mine would go the rounds of the suburb,and I could never erase it from the villagemindnot if I lived a hundred sensibleyears, I had much ado to withhold myselffrom seizing a pot of bachelors buttonsthat stood near, and breaking the wholething over Mrs. Catlins idiotic skull.

It was on top of this pleasant interviewwith Mrs. Catlin, that Mr. Chance cameover, and asked me to attend a concertthat evening with himself and Miss Sprig,and he very narrowly avoided receivingthe bachelors buttons that Mrs. Catlinhad but just escaped.

[80]I strode indoors, and began packingsome of my effects, for I was resolved tomove that day, or the next. Not becauseI had discovered I had such fools forneighborsI had always known thatbutbecause I had just discovered that theyhad a fool for a neighbor.

Worldly considerations prevailed withme, and I took out the Penates that I hadslammed into a trunk, mended theirbroken noses, and set them in place oncemore; but I hid myself away for severaldays, much as Moses was hidden, but fora less dignified reason.

After a time, I cooled off, and decidedto accept the world as it stood, and not torage because the millennium did not comebefore I was fitted to enjoy it.

Mrs. Purblind ran over one afternoon,and I could see that she was far fromhappy. I had noticed for some weeksvarious changes in the direction of improvement,in her care of her husband andhousehold. I had also noticed that Mr.[81]Purblinds conduct did not keep pace withthese improvements, but I fancied Mrs.Purblind was not sharp enough to see orsensitive enough to care. In this it seemsI erred, as I have in one, or perhaps two,other directions during my life.

As Mrs. Purblind, for the first timesince I have known her, didnt seem tocare to talk, I took up a book at random,and began reading aloud. As luck wouldhave it, I stumbled into some passagesdescriptive of the ideal home, and before Icould stumble out again, the poor womanburst into tears. I suppose that tenderlittle sentence served as the key that unlockedthe floodgates. As soon as hergrief had spent itself, she apologized, andascribed her tears to bad news in a letteror something, and shortly afterward left.I watched her walking down the street,until my eyes were too dim to see her. Itgrieved me sorely that the cause of hersorrow was so deep, and so delicate that Icould not offer her my sympathy. Her tears[82]were piteous to me, and I wanted to take herto my heart, and tell her how sorry I wasfor her; but to do that would have been totake advantage of her moment of weakness,and that I could notmust not do.So I let her go from me with merely a fewcommonplace expressions of regret thatshe had received disturbing news, whileall the time my heart was aching in unisonwith hers, and I kept her with me inthought, all day.

I went down to the lake directly afterdinner; several things were troubling me,and I wanted to lay my puzzled head onMother Natures bosom.

My run down the steep sides of the bluffset the blood to coursing smartly throughmy veins, and a new and more cheerfulstream of thought to flowing.

I was tired that night, and it was a luxuryto lie flat upon my back on the beach, listeningto the rhythmical thud of the big, longwave at my feet, and the song of the starsoverhead. There is something unspeakably[83]tranquillizing in the studded dome ofheaven; there is also something unspeakablysad. It bends over the struggling,yearning, aching human heart, as amother, who has attained that peace whichis the outgrowth of suffering, bends overthe passion, the sobbing, and the despairof her child.

Hush, hush, it is all for the best.

I cannotwill not bear it!

Hush, you know not what you say.Gods 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 unutterablelove, and pities with unutterablepity. Yet a little while, and the day shallshine upon you; then you will knowalittle while.

I turned from the great vault above me,and looked out upon the restive waters,and as I turned I saw a shadowy Mrs.Purblind sitting beside me on the beach,and questioning with sad eyes and heart,the stars that bent to listen.

[84]I have tried, she said; her face, usuallyso 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, andyou will have to go on trying for years, ifyou want to carry him back to the olddays, I said.

Thats one of the hardest things in allthe world! she cried passionately, if westop doing rightthe right stops with us,but if we stop doing wrong and begin todo right, the wrong goes on.

Not for always, I said, looking up tothe stars.

Oh, for so long!

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

You are trying, I know, I reiterated,but you dont understandyou cant, foryou have only a womans nature.

[85]What should I have, pray?

A womans, and a mans, and a childs,to be a perfect wife and mother; that is,you must be able to comprehend them all.Your husband came home cross to-night.

Yes, irritable toward us all, and I sohoped to have everything pleasant thisevening.

He, too, had his hopes to-day, and theywere flung to the ground, and broken beforehis eyes.

What do you mean?

The special agent of a company thathe has for a year been working to get,has been in town.

Yes, I know.

Yesterday this agent led him to supposehe was to be the favored one. All to-dayhe has been working toward that end,and near night he heard that this man hadgone, without even saying good-by. Youremember that Mr. Purblind left home ina hurry this morning, with scarcely a bite[86]of breakfast; he took very little luncheon,and

Well, we had dinner at the usual time,if hed said he was hungry, Id have hurriedit.

He was not hungryhe was muchmore than that. Did you ever see a vesselwhose fuel is well-nigh exhausted dragherself into port? What is the first thingto be done?

I dont knowreplenish her?

Yes, put coal on board. Now when Isaw your husband walk up to his frontdoor, I said to myself, he needs coaling.A good home should be a good coalingstation; remember that.

But what of me? she asked with someimpatience, I, too, have my worries andexertionsdo I never need coaling?

Frequently, I answered.

Well, who is to coal me, I should liketo know?

Yourself.

Thats rather one-sided, I think. Whyshouldnt my husband look to that?

[87]My dear, I said earnestly, I neverknew but one man who saw when his wifeneeded coaling, and attended to her wants.When he died (for the gods loved him), itwas found that his shoulder-blades wereabnormally largeat least so the doctorssaid, but I knew all the time that his wingshad budded.

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

Then dont attempt the next.

I shant, if I can help it, and yet Imlike to soon, for Mr. Purblinds mother iscoming on a visit to us, and I know shellworry the breath out of me.

Dont let her.

How can I help it?

By keeping the peace with her.

Oh, Ive tried that before; Ive doneeverything I could for her, and deferred toher, and ignored myself until I seemed tofade out of existence, but it didnt work.

Oh, yes, it did, for it made her tentimes as troublesome as before.

[88]It certainly did, but what do youmean?

I mean that a mother-in-law is like achild, in that she is spoiled by having herown way.

But what can I do?

Walk calmly on, doing the best youcan, but recognizing your own authorityand dignity, and finally she will come torecognize it. Be mistress of your ownhousehold, and director of your own childrenallthis quietly and pleasantly, butwithout wavering, and in the end she willrespect and probably admire you, thoughshe will never think you do just right, orare just the woman who ought to havemarried her son.

But Ive always been in hopes of makingher love me as she loves her owndaughter.

That is what every romantic womanstarts out with, but by and by, in thestorm and stress of domestic life, that idealis cast overboard, as a struggling shipthrows its extra cargo over the rail.

[89]Why is it, I wonder, a man neverfights with his father-in-law. Men aresaid to be naturally pugnacious.

Thats a mistake, my dear; a manwould go several miles any day toavoid a fuss; it is we women who delightin scraps. A man occasionally has a littleset-to with the girls father, before he gainshis consent to the engagement, but oncehes married, its the old lady he has totrain for, or I should say who trains forhim, because as a general thing it is she whogives battle, not he. The real conflict,however, takes place between the twowomenthe wife and her mother-in-law.If you want to see de fur fly, as thedarkies say, you must always come overto the feminine side of the house. Thenyoull have your fill of explanations, expostulations,and recriminations.

Well, certainly I never had any troublewith my father-in-law.

Trouble! Do you know what Id do, ifI had a troublesome father-in-law?

[90]Nomurder him?

Murder him, indeed! Woman, haveyou no mercantile instinct? That wouldbe like killing the goose that lays thegolden egg. Why, the first showmanwould take the old gentleman off myhands, and pay me a handsome price forhim. You must know that a troublesomefather-in-law is so rare that the publicwould flock to see him. But you couldntget anything for a troublesome mother-in-law.There are too many families tryingto get rid of them, at any price. The saleof parents-in-law is governed by the samelaws as other commodities, and these interfering,mischief-making mothers-in-lawhave become a drug in the market.

Well, there is Mrs. Earnest, hermother-in-law is a jewel.

Ah, now you mention a most valuablepiece of property, for a woman like thatwhomodels her conduct on the pattern ofAunt Betsey Trotwood, in David Copperfieldshousehold, is a jewel of such magnitude[91]and brilliancy, that she will some daybe seen sparkling in Abrahams bosom,from a distance of millions of miles.

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

Make a delicious dish of your husbandand then take a pincha good pinchofmother-in-law, and throw her in as sass.Speaking of this, remember that too manycooks spoil the broth, and wife and mother-in-lawcombined generally make a prettymess of the husband.

[92]VI

I was feeling a trifle dull and heavy oneafternoon, and after several vain efforts todo good work, decided that a vigoroustramp would set my blood to flowing, andthe wheels of my thinking mill to revolving.So out I started toward the lake, asusual. There had been a storm off theMichigan shore, and we were just beginningto get evidence of it, in the bigwaves that were tumbling on the beach,I like the lake in this moodin any mood,indeed, but especially when it is rough andwild.

After quite a brisk tramp along, or nearthe beach, I turned back; but before going[93]home again, I wished to come in closercontact with the tumultuous waters. Atrisk of being wet by the spray, which thewaves were tossing on high, much as anexcited horse tosses the foam from hischafing mouth, I climbed around the littlebathing house, set on the shore end of thepier, and then boldly walked out, and tookmy seat in the midst of the tumult.

The passion of the lake was magnificent;far outas far as eye could stretchtherewere oncoming waves; the clan was gathering,and all in battle array. What anoverwhelming charge they made! Surelyno one could resist that onslaught. Therewas no deliberation, as was usual with amoderately heavy sea; no calm, inevitableheaving of the water; no steady rising,ever higher and higher, until it crested,curved, and fell with a boom. There wasnothing of this to-day; no preparation;everything was ready; the warriors,armed and mounted, were already makingthe attack.

[94]For a time I gloried in it all; even theanger of the waves was more admirablethan terrific in my sight. It seemed asthough they interpreted my boldness as defiance,and accepted the challenge. Fromnear, from far, they were coming, and allupon me, or if that is taking too much tomyself, they were making their attackupon the shore, meaning to claim it fortheir own, and incidentally to sweep me,a poor, insignificant atom, from their sight.

By and by I found myself oppressed withthe desolation of the scene. As the daywaned, and the chill that foreshadowsnight fell upon me, or rather rose upon me,from the cold waters, I began to feellonely and unprotected. The waveslooked so hungry, so cruel; they reachedout and up toward me; they encircledwith the inevitable, as with a relentlessfate. I began to be afraid of them, and Irose to go back to shore.

Unlike the ocean, the lake is fixed; butthat day the increase of the waves, in[95]height and fury, had the effect of a risingtide. I realized that it would be very difficultfor me to get off the pier alone, and Iwas more than relieved to see RandolphChance, who had come down for a look atthe lake before taking his train to the city.He joined me without trouble; a man canperform those feats so easily, whereas awoman is physically hampered.

Youre in rather a bleak place, MissLeigh, he said.

Yes, I have just begun to realize that.

Oh, well, well manage to get off safely;but you mustnt mind a little wetting.Just give yourself to me, and well be onshore in a minute.

I gladly did as he bade me; it wasluxury just then to have some one asstrong and capable as he take the reins.He led me around the bathing house, andthen lifted me from the pier. As he setme safely on the shore, his eyes met mine,and his look was a revelation to me. Iwas, for a moment, too startled to think,[96]and the strangest sensation I ever experiencedcrept over me. If a look couldspeak, Randolph Chancebut I did notput it into wordsnot then, at least, but itwas all very strange to memost inexplicable.

We walked on quietly, both, I dare say,feeling our silence to be a trifle awkward.It was for this reason that I decided toshorten the time of our being together, bystopping at the house of a friend. Thewetting I had received from the wavesdid not amount to anything for one sohardy as myself, so I was not deterred onthat account.

The house where I stopped was a pleasantresort for me. Both Mr. and Mrs.Bachelor were interesting people. I hadknown Mr. Bachelor for fifteen years. Hehad once been one of our young men, asthe saying is, young merely in the senseof being single, not in actual years, for atthe time I met him he was nearer the fortythan the thirty line. Nature seemed to[97]have marked him for singlecussedness, Ihad almost said, from the first. He wasno favorite with any set, being grumpy,fussy, and peculiar. But five years after herose into sight above my horizon he marrieda most sensible, lovely woman; not achild, by the way, for she was almostforty; and in less than no time, itseemed to us, had a family of four childrenabout him, one following the other soclosely that the predecessor was all butovertaken. At first we said among ourselvesthat he must have borrowed theseinfants, and stuck them up in his home forappearances sake, in some such manner asthe proprietor of a summer hotel oncestuck a number of trees in his grounds, tomake a sandy, barren spot seem fertileand enticing. But by and by we becameconvinced that these little human shootswere his very own, not alone because theyevinced some disagreeable crotchets similarto his, but also because of the love he borethem, and the change they wrought in his[98]character and life. Even around courtthe man was regarded differently; warmthand esteem being extended him now inplace of the dislike he had formerlyaroused. He had never ceased to be astudy to me, and a certain flavor ofromance hung about his homea delightfulflavor, that made it an attractive visitingspot. So it was with considerable pleasurethat I called upon this particular day.

I was shown into the parlora comfortableroom, back of which was a most home-likeapartment, called the study. As I satthere, awaiting Mrs. Bachelors coming, Inoticed that her husbands desk, whichstood in the center of the study, wasstrewn with dolls, and paraphernalia closelyrelated thereto. My observations were interruptedby the entrance of Mrs. Bachelor,who welcomed me in her cordial,cheery way. A minute later Mr. Bachelorcame in, and gave me what was for him,a most friendly greeting. He excusedhimself in a little while, and went into his[99]study. He had, so his wife explained,been ill with a cold for a day or two, andhad been working at home the while, tomake ready for the approaching trial of animportant case.

Upon his entering the study, a sceneoccurred which I shall endeavor to give youas near to the life as possible. As a matterof course he steered directly for hisdesk, and his eye immediately fell upon aquantity of grandchildren, variously disposedthereon.

Well, I declare! he exclaimed; ifthis isnt outrageous! and he gathered upthe whole cropthere were fully a dozendolls, in all stages of development, andmuch doll furniture, and toggery of allkinds.

After dumping the obnoxious elementson to a divan, he returned to his desk, andwith much grumbling sorted out his law-papers,and went to work. But soon afterhe had cleared his visage, as it were, hissmall daughtera pretty child, four years[100]oldran into the room hugging two puggypuppies, and two kittens of tender age.It did not take her long to grasp the situation.Running to the divan, she uttered aseries of cries, indicative both of alarm anddispleasure.

Whatwhatwhat is the matter?said Mr. Bachelor, who had probably forgottenhis offense by this time.

You naughty papa! cried the child;what did you disturve my dollies for?

What did you put them on my deskfor? queried her father indignantly;the idea! I havent a spot on earth I cancall my own.

Youve just mussed their best frocksall up, continued the child, who, withoutpaying the slightest attention to her fathersvigorous protest, was rapidly replacing herfamily, puppies, kittens, and all, on thedesk.

I tell you I cant have them here! Ihave important papers around, and I mustbe allowed to work in peace. Take themoff!

[101]He started to sweep them on to the floor,but the little girl uttered a shriek.

Papa, papa, dont, she screamed.Then, as he desisted, she added, Theyvejust dot to be hereits the bestest, highesttable, and the little doggies and kittiescant jump off, and Im doing to have atea-party with Mamie Williams. Youmust put your nasty old papers somewhereelse.

This is an outrage! he exclaimed,standing up and declaiming as if he werein court; this is imposition run riot; ithas reached a climax, and Ill endure it nolonger. Evidently I have no rights thateven the smallest and youngest in thehousehold is bound to respect. It is anotorious fact that I am ruled with a rodof iron, and that even this baby of thefamily flouts me. I say I will stand it nolonger. I have been held with a tightrein, and a curb bit, but I will turn atlast.

In his excitement, his metaphors became[102]confused, horses and worms being allmixed up in a heap.

Take the desk, take the whole of it,and to-morrow I shall leave the house! Ishall go back to my bachelor quarters,where I once lived in peace.

The child regarded him seriously, fromout her great, brown eyes.

Dont go away, papa, she said atlast, you may have a little of your desk,if you wont take too much. I didntmean to be cross at you, she added, witha pathetic quiver of her lip.

Well, well! exclaimed the father hastily,there, there! and he laid his handsoftly on her curly little head, I guesswell get on somehow; if I can have a partof the desk, thatll answer. Its big enoughfor two, I guess.

And he began moving his papers around.

Not there, papa, said the little tyrant;no, thats the sunny side, and littlebowwow must be there, cause hes dot thebadest cold, and the kitties havent dot but[103]little weeny eyes yet, and they must bewhere its most lightest.

Well, well, well, where may I sit? Imust get to work.

You may sit right there, and youmustnt fiddet, cause youll upset dollyscrib, if you do.

Soon he was safely bestowed, off on oneside, and as he obediently kept to his limitations,all proceeded happily.

During this domestic scrimmage, Mrs.Bachelor went on chatting in her lively,pleasant fashion with me, never betraying,in any way, that she overheard the scenein the study. I was so occupied with it,that I could pay no heed to her remarks;but she was a wise woman, and knew thather husband was being cooked to a deliciousturn, and that any interference on herpart, would spoil the dish. I have sincelearned that occasionally, when she seesthat the fire is really too hot for him, shecomes to his rescue.

If he sputters and fizzes, dont be anxious;[104]some husbands do this till they arequite done.

Evidently Mrs. Bachelor has studied hercook-book.

[105]VII

The little touch of sentiment thatflashed, as it were, from Randolph Chanceas he lifted me off the pier, was presentlyblotted, as far as effect upon me was concerned,by the return of Miss Sprig to thePurblind household, and the renewal ofhis attentions to her. At least I regardedthem as renewed, and I coldly turned myback upon him, and let him go his way,without further thought or speculation.

I was daily becoming more interested inanother acquaintanceMr. Gregory, aman of years, whom I had known forsome time. He had been a visitor at ourhouse when my parents were living, and[106]had, from time to time, shown me friendlyattentions since their death. He frequentlyinvited me to places of entertainment, somethingRandolph Chance seldom did, and inmany ways contributed to my comfort andhappiness. Single women are very dependentupon their men friends for pleasuresof this sort; few of them care to go out atnight alone, and even when they go incompany with each other, the occasionlacks a zest which belongs to it when awoman has an escort. It is strange thatmany menmany of those who believe inthe dependence of women, fall into the selfishhabit of going alone to theater, concert,and lecture, and so force the womenof their acquaintance into a position whichtheir sentiments would seem to deprecate.

While in no way obtrusive, or gushingin his attentions, Mr. Gregory was mostthoughtful and kind, and few women arewithout appreciation of conduct of thistype.

Life flowed on with me with a quiet current.[107]I was not a woman to make sceneswith myself or others, and my circumstanceswere such as to permit of an undisturbedtenor of way.

One bright afternoon, just as I returnedfrom a long walk, Mrs. Purblind ran overto see me, and soon afterward, Mrs. Cynicdropped in. I never could bear this latterwoman; something malevolent seems toemanate from her; something that is moreor less unhealthful to the moral nature ofall who come in contact with it, just as themiasma from a swamp is poisonous to thephysical being.

It chanced that I had just finished writinga little story, drawn from the life-pageof my domestic experience; it was so endearedto my memory that I was not liketo forget it, and yet, in the course of years,its outlines would probably fade a trifle ifI did not take care to preserve their distinctness;for that reason I had written itout.

I ought to have had better sense than to[108]read anything of this kind to Mrs. Cynic.In the presence of such people, that whichis fresh, beautiful, and holy withers, as acluster of dewy wild flowers is parchedand killed by the hot, sterile breath of afurnace.

Usually I have some judgment in suchmatters, but that day all discretion seemedto take wings.

A remark of Mrs. Purblinds led up tothe subject. This little woman can sayugly things at times, but they are stungout of her, as it were, by some particularhurt, and are not the expression of her realnature. She has a kind, good heart,though her judgment and tact are somewhatlacking.

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

Devotion! the masculine nature doesntknow the meaning of the word, unless itis devotion to self.

[109]I must read you a little story Ive writtento-day. Its a true one, rememberIthink 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 of thefamily, and Lady was his consort, and alady she was indeed. I can hardly imaginea human creature of greater intelligenceand refinement than this dumbbeast. The attachment between herselfand Duke was unique in its strength, andin its demonstration. He was fully asnoble and as intelligent as she, but of aless lively, cheerful temperament. Thearrival of six little Dukes was an occasionof anxiety and excitement for us all, andwe were much relieved when the eventwas safely over, and we saw Lady and herbeautiful family established in peace andcomfort. Matters had run smoothly forabout four or five weeks, when one day Iwas startled by a series of sharp yelps,[110]which I knew came from Lady. I ran tothe window, and saw the poor creaturerolling in the middle of the street, in thegreatest pain. By her side was Duke, andhis outcries mingled with hers. The hard-heartedteamster, whose wagon had donethe mischief, had driven off, but I ran tothe rescue, and finally got her into thestable, where her little ones were awaitingher. She only lived a few hours, and herlast act was an effort to nurse her clamorousdoggies, while with her great, sad eyesshe seemed to say good-by to Duke! Thegrief of this noble fellow was so great thatwe thought he would go mad. For a timehe refused to let us come near her. Hestood over her, licking her senseless form,pushing her gently once in a while with hishead and paws, and then uttering lamentablecries when he saw that she did notmove, or in any way respond; and meanwhilethe tiny dogs were crawling overher, and mingling their voices with theirfathers deep notes of distress. It was a[111]most pitiable sight, and we all breathed asigh of relief when the dear old fellow permittedus to lead him off into the house,and we had an opportunity to dispose ofpoor Lady. Ill not try to tell of Dukesexcitement and distress when he missedher; of his frantic search all over the place,and of how we followed him about,and talked to him, and tried to divert him;or how we allDuke, and the rest of us,finally sat down in the stable, beside themotherless little family, and wept together.

The morning after Lady died, I wentout to the stable with a cup of warm milk.I had not been able to do anything withthe puggy little dogs the evening before,but I thought that their sharp hunger,after several hours of abstinence, wouldlead them to make an effort to drink. Icarried a spoon with me, also a rag to suck,and a bottle, with a nippleall kinds ofappliances, in fact.

What was my surprise upon enteringthe stable, to find Duke occupying Ladys[112]place. He was evidently trying to answerthe small dogs clamorous demand forbreakfast, and it was also plain that hisfailure in this respect amazed and bewilderedhim. He lay down just as he hadseen Lady do, and when this did notsuffice he tried another position; failingagain, he withdrew a few paces, and satfor a moment in an attitude of profoundthought; returning soon, and trying anotherdevice. This resulting unfavorably,he made still another, and then anotherattempt, and finally, grieved to the heart,and worried by the hungry cries of thesmall dogs, he withdrew once more, andlifting his nose high in air, deliberatelyyowled.

At