sposition; but
beneath this mild exterior there was a great deal of firmness of
purpose. Asaph had not seen very much of his sister since she had
grown up and married; and when he came to live with her he thought
that he was going to have things pretty much his own way. But it was
not long before he entirely changed his mind.

Mrs. Himes was of moderate height, pleasant countenance, and a
figure inclined to plumpness. Her dark hair, in which there was not
a line of gray, was brushed down smoothly on each side of her face,
and her dress, while plain, was extremely neat. In fact, everything
in the house and on the place was extremely neat, except Asaph.

She was in the bright little dining-room which looked out on the
flower-garden, preparing the table for supper, placing every plate,
dish, glass, and cup with as much care and exactness as if a civil
engineer had drawn a plan on the table-cloth with places marked for
the position of each article.

As she finished her work by placing a chair on each side of the
table, a quiet smile, the result of a train of thought in which she
had been indulging for the past half-hour, stole over her face. She
passed through the kitchen, with a glance at the stove to see if the
tea-kettle had begun to boil; and going out of the back door, she
walked over to the shed where her brother was splitting
kindling-wood.

"Asaph," said Mrs. Himes, "if I were to give you a good suit of
clothes, would you promise me that you would never smoke when
wearing them?"

Her brother looked at her in amazement. "Clothes!" he repeated.

"Mr. Himes was about your size," said his sister, "and he left a
good many clothes, which are most of them very good and carefully
packed away, so that I am sure there is not a moth-hole in any one
of them. I have several times thought, Asaph, that I might give you
some of his clothes; but it did seem to me a desecration to have the
clothes of such a man, who was so particular and nice, filled and
saturated with horrible tobacco-smoke, which he detested. But now
you are getting to be so awful shabby, I do not see how I can stand
it any longer. But one thing I will not do--I will not have Mr.
Himes's clothes smelling of tobacco as yours do; and not only your
own tobacco, but Mr. Rooper's."

"I think," said Asaph, "that you are not exactly right just there.
What you smell about me is my smoke. Thomas Rooper never uses
anything but the finest-scented and delicatest bran