ear; it has now reached a sum that enables me
to hope for speedy relief from those financial worries which encompass
the head of a numerous household. By the practice of rigid economy in
family expenses I have been able to accumulate a large number of
black-letter books and a fine collection of curios, including some fifty
pieces of mediaeval armor. We have lived in rented houses all these
years, but at no time has Alice abandoned the hope and the ambition of
having a home of her own. "Our house" has been the burthen of her song
from one year's end to the other. I understand that this becomes a
monomania with a woman who lives in a rented house.

And, gracious! what changes has "our house" undergone since first dear
Alice pictured it as a possibility to me! It has passed through every
character, form, and style of architecture conceivable. From five rooms
it has grown to fourteen. The reception parlor, chameleon-like, has
changed color eight times. There have duly loomed up bewildering visions
of a library, a drawing-room, a butler's pantry, a nursery, a
laundry--oh, it quite takes my breath away to recall and recount the
possibilities which Alice's hopes and fancies conjured up.

But, just two months ago to-day Alice burst in upon me. I was in my
study over the kitchen figuring upon the probable date of the conjunction
of Venus and Saturn in the year 1963.

"Reuben, dear," cried Alice, "I 've done it! I 've bought a place!"

"Alice Fothergill Baker," says I, "what _do_ you mean!"

She was all out of breath--so transported with delight was she that she
could hardly speak. Yet presently she found breath to say: "You know the
old Schmittheimer place--the house that sets back from the street and has
lovely trees in the yard? You remember how often we 've gone by there
and wished we had a home like it? Well, I 've bought it! Do you
understand, Reuben dear? I 've bought it, and we 've got a home at last!"

"Have you _paid_ for it, darling?" I asked.

"N-n-no, not yet," she answered, "but I 'm going to, and you 're going to
help me, are n't you, Reuben?"

"Alice," says I, going to her and putting my arms about her, "I don't
know what you 've done, but of course I 'll help you--yes, dearest, I 'll
back you to the last breath of my life!"

Then she made me put on my boots and overcoat and hat and go with her to
see her new purchase--"our house!"

II

OURSELVES AND OUR NEIGHBORS

Everybody's ho