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in not having that to endure. There are some poor wives would think you like the princess in the fairytale, who couldn't sleep for the pea." She fell into a reverie over this, sat looking into the heart of the fire. "Men? -- ah, my dear! to me even the best of 'em seem only like so many children. We have to be mothers to 'em as well as wives, Mary; watch over them the same as over those we've borne; and feel thankful if their nature is sound, behind all the little surface tricks and naughtinesses. Men may err and stray, my dear, but they must always find us here to come back to, and find us forgiving and unchanged. -- But tut, tut, what a sermon your old mother's preaching you! As if you weren't the happiest of wives," and she laid her soft old hand on Mary's. "I got led into it, I suppose, because of the strong tie between us: you're more like me, Mary, than any of the rest. Another thing, too: I'm a very old woman, my dear, and shan't live to see the end of the day's business. So always remember, love, Mother's advice to you was this: not to worry over small things -- the big ones will need all your strength. And you can't do Richard's experiencing for him, Mary, however much you'd like to spare him the knocks and jars of it. -- But I do declare, here they come. Now what will they say to finding us gossiping in the dark?"
    The shoppers' steps echoed down the quiet street -- really sounding like one rather heavy footfall -- and turned in at the gate. And then there were voices and laughter and the sound of rustling paper and snipped string in the little room, where Mary lit the lamp, and Lisby displayed her presents -- sweetmeats, a piece of music she had coveted, a pair of puce-covered gloves, a new net for her chignon -- while Mother tried to prevent the great round pork pie Mahony deposited on her lap, from sliding into the grate.
    "You dear naughty spendthrift of a man! Why, the girl's head will be turned."
    "Come, mother, let me give her a little pleasure."
    "You give yourself more, or I'm much mistaken."
    "Pooh! Such trifles! I shouldn't otherwise know what to do with my small change," retorted Mahony. And Mary laughed and said: "Wait, mother, till the practice really begins to move, and then you'll see!"
    This nudged Mahony's memory. "Has any one been?"
    "They hadn't when I came over. And Mary Ann has not knocked at the wall. -- Oh yes, the boy called with an account from Mr. Bealby."
    The news of the empty afternoon, together with Mary's colonialism, grated on Mahony. "Do knight him, my dear, while you're about it," he said snappishly.
    "Oh well, Bealby then. Though, I really can't see what it matters. And out there, if I hadn't said Mr. Chambers, Mr. Tangye, you would have been the one to suffer."
    "And I can assure you, my dears, Bealby won't think any the worse of you for turning him into a gentleman," soothed Mother.
    "Oh! but Richard is very correct -- aren't you, dear?"
    Here Lisby had also to put in her spoke.
    "And Bellvy Castle, pray? -- what of Bellvy Castle? Has still no groom come riding post-haste to summon you?"
    Heartily tired of this jest, which he himself had innocently started, Mahony picked up a book and stuck his nose in it. "No, nor ever will."
    "Come, Lisby," said Mother, "the kettle's boiling its head off. -- Richard, my dear, draw up your chair; you must be cold and famished. -- Nay, Mary, I'll not let you go home. We're going to drink a cosy cup together. And afterwards Richard shall tell us more adventures of the early days. I've looked forward to it all the afternoon. It's as good as any book."
    Mahony had more than once said to his wife: "Before I knew your mother, Mary, I used to think you the warmest-hearted creature under the sun. But now that I know her, love, and can draw comparisons, I declare you sometimes seem to me quite a hard and reasonable young woman."
    And then he would fall to musing on the subject of wisdom inborn and acquired. Here was this little old lady, who knew nothing