their brief period of servitude to be more patient and
considerate to those who serve.

How She Helped Him

STORY OF A WIFE

"Well, tell me about Henry Woodruff. How did that match turn out?"

"Bad enough thus far. He is the same delightful, good-hearted fellow as
of old; always ready to do a kind, or courteous act. But this woman will
be the ruin of him."

"How? What is the trouble?"

"The trouble is she is spoiled to death! She fancies herself an invalid,
lies around, does nothing but read Charlotte Braeme and Bertha M.
Clay--has every foolish whim gratified, and, in fact, I don't see how he
stands it."

"Did she have any property?"

"Not a cent. It was an out-and-out love match. She has expensive tastes;
she is indolent and extravagant. Why, his carriage hire is a big item of
itself. She couldn't walk a block, you know."

"Perhaps she really is a sufferer."

"Nonsense; nobody believes it. She had that fall, you recollect at the
skating rink. At first her spine was thought to be seriously injured.
Woodruff paid out several hundred dollars to have her cured, and the
doctors discharged her, well, they said. But it has pleased her to drag
around, a load on his hands, ever since. It is thought that he is much
crippled financially. I know positively that he has lately mortgaged his
interest in the firm. If he can't manage to make, or save five thousand
dollars by the end of this year, it is all up with him. And he will
never do it at his present rate of living,"

"Why doesn't he tell her? Has she no sense, or feeling at all?"

"None, except for herself; and he is so fond of her that he will indulge
her to his very last cent."

"I thought he looked a little down as he passed us this morning."

"Yes, he is beginning to realize that he has gone too far, and, poor
fellow, it is tugging at him hard."

Did she hear aright? Was it of her, Eleanor Woodruff, that they were
talking? Swiftly she sped out of the dark, heavily-curtained back parlor
of the stylish boarding-house, and into her room, a gorgeous alcove
apartment on the first floor. She could not mount the stairs on account
of her weak spine. Weak spine? She forgot all about it as she paced the
floor, angry tears gushing from her large brown eyes. It was shameful--it
was wicked--to be so abused. She had never in her whole petted life been
found fault with. As to money, what did she know about it? Her father,
before his failure and death, had alway