s
regard for his own knowledge; he smiles at everything else because it
doesn't seem quite real to him.

"Been up to see Mary's new house?" he asked.

"Yes," And for the life of me I couldn't help smiling in response.

"It's a wonder isn't it?"

He thought his wife a very extraordinary woman. I remember his saying to
me once, "David, she's got the soul of a poet and the brain of a
general."

"It _is_ a wonder," I responded.

"I can't decide yet what chair to sit in, nor just what she wants the
kids to do."

I still smiled.

"I expect she hasn't determined yet," he went drawling on, "in what
chair I will look most decorative."

He ruminated.

"You know, she's got the idea that there's too much of everything. I
guess there is, too--and that she ought to select only those things that
an essential. I've been wondering, if she had more than one husband
whether or not she'd select me----"

The restless young Jamie was now starting the machine, and Richard
Starkweather leaned out and said to me in parting: "isn't she a wonder!
Did all the planning herself--wouldn't have an architect--wouldn't have
a decorator--all I could do--"

As he turned around I saw him throw one arm carelessly about the
shoulders of the sturdy younger boy who sat next him.

When I got home I told Harriet all about what I had seen and heard. I
think I must feel when I am retailing such fascinating neighbourhood
events to Harriet--how she _does_ enjoy them!--I must feel very much as
she does when she is urging me to have just a little more of the new
gingerbread.

In the next few months I watched with indescribable interest the
unfolding of the drama of Mary Starkweather. I saw her from time to time
that summer and she seemed, and I think she was, happier than ever she
had been before in her whole life. Making over her garden, selecting the
"essential books," choosing the best pictures for her rooms, even
reforming the clothing of the boys, all with an emphasis upon perfect
simplicity--her mind was completely absorbed. Occasionally Richard
appeared upon the stage, a kind of absurd Greek chorus of one, who
remarked what a wonderful woman this was and poked fun at himself and at
the new house, and asserted that Mary could be as simple as ever she
liked, he insisted on thick soup for dinner and would not sacrifice his
beloved old smoking jacket upon the altar of any new idea.

"She's a wonder, David," he'd wind up: "but this simple life i