his, the fact that
with all his faults, perhaps largely because of them, perhaps chiefly
because she cooked, washed, ironed, mended, and baked for him, kept his
home and planned so continually for his pleasure, Martin was dear to
Rose, and it is not difficult to understand how unequal the contest in
which she was matched when her wishes clashed with her husband's. It was
predestined that he, invariably, should win out.

Rose told her friends she and her husband had decided that the second
story would make her too much work, and Martin noticed with surprise how
easily her convincing statement was accepted. He decided, for his own
peace of mind, that he had nothing with which to reproach himself.
He had put it up to her and she had agreed. This principal concession
obtained, other smaller ones followed logically and rapidly. The running
water and bath in the house were given up for piping to the barn, and
stanchions--then novelties in southeastern Kansas. The money for the
hardwood floors went into lightning rods. Built-in cupboards were
dismissed as luxuries, and the saving paid for an implement shed which
delighted Martin, who had figured how much expensive machinery would be
saved from rust. When it came to papering the walls he decided that the
white plaster was attractive enough and could serve for years. Instead,
he bought a patented litter-carrier that made the job of removing manure
from the barn an easy task. The porches purchased everything from a
brace and bit to a lathe for the new tool-room and put the finishing
touches to the dairy. The result was a four-room house that was the old
one born again, and such well-equipped farm buildings that they were the
pride of the township.

Rose, who had surrendered long since, let the promises go to naught
without much protest. Martin was so quietly domineering, so stubbornly
persistent--and always so plausible--oh, so plausible!--that there was
no resisting him. Only when it came to the fireplace did she make a last
stand. She felt that it would be such a friendly spirit in the house.
She pictured Martin and herself sitting beside it in the winter
evenings.

"A house without one is like a place without flowers," she explained to
him.

"It's a mighty dirty business," he answered tersely. "You would have to
track the coal through the rest of the house and you'd have all those
extra ashes to clean out."

"But you would never see any of the dirt," she argued with more