y.

Isabel was never a cook. In the many servantless gaps of domestic life
in Orchardina, there was always a strained atmosphere in the Porne
household.

"Dear," said Mr. Porne, "might I petition to have the steak less cooked?
I know you don't like to do it, so why not shorten the process?"

"I'm sorry," she answered, "I always forget about the steak from one
time to the next."

"Yet we've had it three times this week, my dear."

"I thought you liked it better than anything," she with marked
gentleness. "I'll get you other things--oftener."

"It's a shame you should have this to do, Isabel. I never meant you
should cook for me. Indeed I didn't dream you cared so little about it."

"And I never dreamed you cared so much about it," she replied, still
with repression. "I'm not complaining, am I? I'm only sorry you should
be disappointed in me."

"It's not _you,_ dear girl! You're all right! It's just this everlasting
bother. Can't you get _anybody_ that will stay?"

"I can't seem to get anybody on any terms, so far. I'm going again,
to-morrow. Cheer up, dear--the baby keeps well--that's the main thing."

He sat on the rose-bowered porch and smoked while she cleared the table.
At first he had tried to help her on these occasions, but their methods
were dissimilar and she frankly told him she preferred to do it alone.

So she slipped off the silk and put on the gingham again, washed the
dishes with the labored accuracy of a trained mind doing unfamiliar
work, made the bread, redressed at last, and joined him about nine
o'clock.

"It's too late to go anywhere, I suppose?" he ventured.

"Yes--and I'm too tired. Besides--we can't leave Eddie alone."

"O yes--I forget. Of course we can't."

His hand stole out to take hers. "I _am_ sorry, dear. It's awfully rough
on you women out here. How do they all stand it?"

"Most of them stand it much better than I do, Ned. You see they don't
want to be doing anything else."

"Yes. That's the mischief of it!" he agreed; and she looked at him in
the clear moonlight, wondering exactly what he thought the mischief was.

"Shall we go in and read a bit?" he offered; but she thought not.

"I'm too tired, I'm afraid. And Eddie'll wake up as soon as we begin."

So they sat awhile enjoying the soft silence, and the rich flower scents
about them, till Eddie did wake presently, and Isabel went upstairs.

She slept little that night, lying quite still, listening to her
husban