ny oil-stove," said the girl, skeptically, looking about
her.

"Oh, I have a regular kitchen. It's there," he nodded back of him; "and
two rooms beside for me and for Dr. Melton or my Germans, or some of my
other freak friends when they stay too long and miss the last trolley in
to town. Oh, I have lots of room."

"It looks really rather nice, now I'm here and all," Lydia vaguely
approved; "though I don't see why you couldn't have gone on more like
other folks and just changed some things--not been so _awfully_ queer!"

Rankin was kneeling before her, holding out a pair of rubbers. At this
remark he sat back on his heels, and began: "My great-aunt said that
there was a man in her town who had such a terrible temper that his wife
was in perfect terror of him, and finally actually died of fear.
Everybody was paralyzed with astonishment when, two or three years
after, one of the nicest girls in town married him. People told her she
was crazy, but she just smiled and said she guessed she could get along
with him all right. Everything went well for a week or two, and then one
day he said the tea was cold and not fit for a pig to drink, and threw
the cup on the floor. She threw hers down and broke it all to smash. He
stared and glared, and threw his plate down. She set her lips and banged
her own plate on the hearth. He threw his knife and fork through the
window. She threw hers after, and added the water-pitcher for good
measure."

Lydia's astonishment at this point was so heartfelt that the raconteur
broke off, laughed, and ended hastily, "I spare you the rest of the
dinner-service. The upshot of it was that every dish in the house was
smashed and not a word spoken. Then the man called for his carriage (he
was a rich man--that sort usually is), drove to the nearest china-store,
bought a new set, better than the old, took it back, and lived in peace
and harmony with his wife ever after. And here is the smallest pair of
rubbers I can find, and I shall have to tie these on!"

Lydia watched the operation in silence. As he finished it and rose to
his feet again, "What was that all about?" she inquired simply.

"Compromise," he answered. "There are occasions when it doesn't do any
good."

"Does it do such a lot of good to go off in the woods by yourself and do
your own cooking?" asked Lydia with something of her father's shrewd
home-thrusting accent. "What would happen if everybody did that?"

Rankin laughed. "Everybody'