s
around his neck.

"Do you mean it, father?" she whispered. "Can I have a piano?"

"Why, of course," he answered softly, "if you want one."

In a week the old cottage organ that had felt the touch of Liddy's
childish fingers learning the scale, was keeping company with the tall
clock in the attic, and in its place stood a piano. In the sitting-room
a new clock that chimed the hours and halves ticked on the mantel. These
were not all the changes, for when so much was won our heart-breaker
renewed her assault by her usual method, and pretty portieres took the
place of doors between parlor, hall and sitting-room, and delicate lace
curtains draped the windows. Then Liddy surveyed her home with
satisfaction and asked her father how he liked it.

"It makes a great change in the rooms," he replied, "and they seem more
cheerful."

"Do you notice that it also makes the carpets look worn and shabby?"
said Liddy; "and the parlor furniture a little old-fashioned?"

Mr. Camp sat down in one of the parlor chairs and looked around. For a
few moments he surveyed the room in silence and then said: "Liddy, did
you ever hear the story of the brass fire-dogs? I don't think you have,
so I will tell it. There was once a good woman who persuaded her husband
to buy a pair of brass fire-dogs for the parlor, to take the place of
the old iron ones. When the new ones were in place she polished them
very brightly and asked him to look into the room. 'Don't you think,'
she said, 'they make the carpet look old and worn?' They certainly did,
so he bought a new carpet. That in turn made the furniture seem shabby,
so he was persuaded to renew that. By this time the curtains were not in
harmony, and had to be changed. When it was all done he remarked: 'Wife,
you said the fire-dogs would only cost me four dollars, but they have
really cost me two hundred.'"

"But we had the brass fire-dogs already," said Liddy laughing, "so the
story doesn't hit me." Then, going to him and putting one arm around his
neck and stroking his face with the other hand, she continued: "The
trouble is, father, you have got me instead of new fire-dogs; are you
sorry?"

"You must judge for yourself," was his answer. "Is there anything else
you wish?"

"Yes, there are two other things I want," was her reply, still stroking
him; "I want to see you look happier, and feel happier, and I want some
one to come back safe from the war."

Life is at best but a succession of mo