old-fashioned lounge in the other corner, which had been the maternal
throne for years; they disparaged the work-table, the work-basket,
with constant suggestions of how such things as these would look in
certain well-kept parlors where new-fashioned furniture of the same
sort as ours existed.

"We don't have any parlor," said Jenny one day. "Our parlor has always
been a sort of log cabin,--library, study, nursery, greenhouse, all
combined. We never have had things like other people."

"Yes, and this open fire makes such a dust; and this carpet is one
that shows every speck of dust; it keeps one always on the watch."

"I wonder why papa never had a study to himself; I'm sure I should
think he would like it better than sitting here among us all. Now
there's the great south room off the dining-room; if he would only
move his things there and have his open fire, we could then close up
the fireplace and put lounges in the recesses, and mamma could have
her things in the nursery,--and then we should have a parlor fit to be
seen."

I overheard all this, though I pretended not to,--the little busy
chits supposing me entirely buried in the recesses of a German book
over which I was poring.

There are certain crises in a man's life when the female element in
his household asserts itself in dominant forms that seem to threaten
to overwhelm him. The fair creatures, who in most matters have
depended on his judgment, evidently look upon him at these seasons as
only a forlorn, incapable male creature, to be cajoled and flattered
and persuaded out of his native blindness and absurdity into the
fairyland of their wishes.

"Of course, mamma," said the busy voices, "men can't understand such
things. What can men know of housekeeping, and how things ought to
look? Papa never goes into company; he don't know and don't care how
the world is doing, and don't see that nobody now is living as we
do."

"Aha, my little mistresses, are you there?" I thought; and I mentally
resolved on opposing a great force of what our politicians call
backbone to this pretty domestic conspiracy.

"When you get my writing-table out of this corner, my pretty dears,
I'd thank you to let me know it."

Thus spake I in my blindness, fool that I was. Jupiter might as soon
keep awake when Juno came in best bib and tucker, and with the cestus
of Venus, to get him to sleep. Poor Slender might as well hope to get
the better of pretty Mistress Anne Page as one o