it lightened his labors.

"My little woman does not ride, or read, any more," he said one evening,
in the indulgent tone he used towards her.

"Why, yes, I do read. Don't you see my little library there?"

"Yes, but it seems to me I miss something."

He missed the litter of trashy novels he had been wont to see.

"I told you I was learning to walk;" she added, with a smile, "I really
do walk somewhere every day."

"That pleases me most of all," he said in his cheery way, "but what will
Dr. Bull think. You know he prescribes rest and quiet."

"I don't care one bit; I have long since cut his acquaintance."

* * * * *

The end of the year rolled round. Eleanor watched her husband's face
with ever increasing anxiety. One evening he sat buried in thought from
which all her endeavors could not rouse him. He did not feel well, he
said. All night he tossed and muttered. Calculations and figures were
uppermost.

He was up early, as usual, and away. Eleanor hastened her preparations,
and carefully counted her little hoard--the earnings of months. Early
in the afternoon she came home with the proceeds of her last batch of