rue or false, there seems to be no doubt that presently the
husband grew careless and indifferent; that scene followed scene
between them, until at last he went to drinking. Then the little wife
waxed sober, thoughtful, and studied much within herself. This awful
sorrow, following so closely upon the heels of her wedding-day joy,
matured her judgment--her womanhood, and she began to use every skillful
device to call back her husband from the dark paths he had chosen, to
the light. All in vain, however; and when she realized this, after
several years of heroic effort, she made one last scene, and told him
she was going to leave him. Then his old-time tenderness returned--if you
can compare a tenderness which was blurred and cringing, with that which
was clear and manly. He begged and promised in vain, however, for she
had lost faith, and a lost faith is not found again for many a day.

So she went off, and she covered all traces and signs so carefully that
no anxious, heartbroken effort of his could find her. Meanwhile she
wrote him frequently and regularly, and although he knew not where to
send reply, it is quite likely she had word of him from some one to whom
she had given her confidence in this dreary time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you remember my story about Duke?" I asked.

"Yes, I liked it," she said, "though I'm not very partial to dogs."

"I have one here about horses. I've wri