"Very well; here is the money."

And Anna drew a purse of gold from her pocket, and held it before
his eyes.

"Anna! What does this mean?"

And Brainard reached his hand to grasp the welcome treasure. But she
drew it away quickly, saying, as she did so,--

"Certain conditions must go with the loan."

"Name them," was promptly answered by the husband, into whose face
the sunshine had already come back.

"One is, that you are not to be angry with me for any thing that I
have done to-day."

"What have you done?"

And Brainard glanced around the room with an awakened suspicion.

"I want your promise first."

"You have it."

"But mind you, I am in earnest," said Anna.

"So am I. Now make your confession."

"I sold the piano."

"What?"

There was an instant change in the expression of Brainard's face.

"Your promise. Remember," said Anna, in a warning voice.

"Sold the piano!"

And he walked into the next room, Anna moving by his side.

"Yes, I sold it to Mrs. Aiken for four hundred dollars. I had my old
instrument brought over from father's. This is as good a piano as I
want, or you either, I should think, seeing that you perceived no
difference in its tones from the one I parted with. Now, take this
purse, and if you don't call me the right sort of a wife you are a
very strange man--that is all I have to say."

Surprise kept Brainard silent for some moments. He looked at the
piano, then at his wife, and then at the purse of gold, half
doubting whether all were real, or only a pleasant dream.

"You are the right sort of a wife, Anna, and no mistake," said he,
at length, drawing his arm around her neck and kissing her. "You
have done what I had not the courage to do, and, in the act, saved
me from a world of trouble. The truth is, I never should have bought
that piano. A clerk, with a salary of only a thousand dollars, is
not justified in expending four hundred dollars for a piano."

"Nor in having so much costly furniture," said Anna, glancing round
the room.

Brainard sighed, for the thought of two hundred dollars yet to pay
flitted through his mind.

"Nor in paying three hundred dollars for rent," added Anna.

"Why do you say that?" asked Brainard.

"Because it's the truth. The fact is, George, I'm afraid we're in
the wrong road for comfort."

"Perhaps we are," was the young man's constrained admission.

"Then the quicker we get into the right way the better. Don't you
think so?"