Jim and John and me talked it up to-day when we was out to work, and we think you orto have gone with Dick.

It must be lonesome staying here, and you only six months married.

I wish, and the boys wishes, we could do something to chirk you up." With the exception of what Eunice had said, these were the first words of sympathy Ethelyn had heard, and her tears flowed at once, while her slight form shook with such a tempest of sobs that Andy was alarmed, and getting down on his knees beside her, begged of her to tell him what was the matter.

Had he hurt her feelings?
he was such a blunderin' critter, he never knew the right thing to say, and if she liked he'd go straight off downstairs.
"No, Anderson," Ethelyn said, "you have not hurt my feelings, and I do not wish you to go, but, oh, I am so wretched and so disappointed, too!" "About goin' to Washington, you mean ?" Andy asked, resuming his chair, and his attitude of earnest inquiry, while Ethelyn, forgetting all her reserve, replied: "Yes, I mean that and everything else.

It has been nothing but disappointment ever since I left Chicopee, and I sometimes wish I had died before I promised to go away from dear Aunt Barbara's, where I was so happy." "What made you promise, then?
I suppose, though, it was because you loved Dick so much," simple-minded Andy said, trying to remember if there was not a passage somewhere which read, "For this cause shall a man leave father and mother and cleave unto his wife, and they twain shall be one flesh." Ethelyn would not wound Andy by telling him how little love had had to do with her unhappy marriage, and she remained silent for a moment, while Andy continued, "Be you disappointed here--with us, I mean, and the fixins ?" "Yes, Anderson, terribly disappointed.