n the old rut as nearly
as possible when he was at home. He saw only that she was stronger, and
it lightened his labors.

"My little woman does not ride, or read, any more," he said one evening,
in the indulgent tone he used towards her.

"Why, yes, I do read. Don't you see my little library there?"

"Yes, but it seems to me I miss something."

He missed the litter of trashy novels he had been wont to see.

"I told you I was learning to walk;" she added, with a smile, "I really
do walk somewhere every day."

"That pleases me most of all," he said in his cheery way, "but what will
Dr. Bull think. You know he prescribes rest and quiet."

"I don't care one bit; I have long since cut his acquaintance."

* * * * *

The end of the year rolled round. Eleanor watched her husband's face
with ever increasing anxiety. One evening he sat buried in thought from
which all her endeavors could not rouse him. He did not feel well, he
said. All night he tossed and muttered. Calculations and figures were
uppermost.

He was up early, as usual, and away. Eleanor hastened her preparations,
and carefully counted her little hoard--the earnings of months. Early
in the afternoon she came home with the proceeds of her last batch of
type-writing, glowing with exercise, and the happiness of contributing
at least some hundreds to meet her husband's creditors. He was there,
lying on the sofa, pale and hopeless. Forgetting all else, she flung
herself beside him with a sob.

"Oh! Harry, my dearest! Tell me what it is that is killing you--I have a
right to know."

"It is ruin, Eleanor. I have brought you to poverty--you whom I would
have given my very life to make happy."

"You are talking in riddles, Harry," she exclaimed, rallying from her
alarm. "Am I not the happiest woman in the world? And don't you see how
well and strong I am?"

She coaxed the whole story from his lips. Then with affected lightness,
she said: "Is that all? Why, you frightened me terribly; I thought you
were ill--had caught some horrible disease or other. See here!"

As she spoke she ran to her desk, took out her treasure, and poured it
into his hands in her impulsive fashion.

"Eleanor! What is this?" staring like one dazed, from her radiant face
to the notes in his hands.

"This? Why, this is only your silly wife's laziness and selfishness in
another form."

Then her story had to be told. Their combined efforts still fell sho