they could
not be supposed to know it all belonged to them.

It was about two weeks before they were regularly established in the
great house, and Horace Allen, the high-school teacher, was expected
the next day but one. Henry had pottered about the place, and
attended to some ploughing on the famous White grass-land, which was
supposed to produce more hay than any piece of land of its size in
the county. Henry had been fired with ambition to produce more than
ever before, but that day his spirit had seemed to fail him. He sat
about gloomily all the afternoon; then he went down for the evening
mail, and brought home no letters, but the local paper. Sylvia was
preparing supper in the large, clean kitchen. She had been looking
over her new treasures all day, and she was radiant. She chattered to
her husband like a school-girl.

"Oh, Henry," said she, "you don't know what we've got! I never
dreamed poor Abrahama had such beautiful things. I have been up in
the garret looking over things, and there's one chest up there packed
with the most elegant clothes. I never saw such dresses in my life."

Henry looked at his wife with eyes which loved her face, yet saw it
as it was, elderly and plain, with all its youthful bloom faded.

"I don't suppose there is anything that will suit you to have made
over," he said. "I suppose they are dresses she had when she was
young."

Sylvia colored. She tossed her head and threw back her round
shoulders. Feminine vanity dies hard; perhaps it never dies at all.

"I don't know," she said, defiantly. "Three are colors I used to
wear. I have had to wear black of late years, because it was more
economical, but you know how much I used to wear pink. It was real
becoming to me."

Henry continued to regard his wife's face with perfect love and a
perfect cognizance of facts. "You couldn't wear it now," he said.

"I don't know," retorted Sylvia. "I dare say I don't look now as if I
could. I have been working hard all day, and my hair is all out of
crimp. I ain't so sure but if I did up my hair nice, and wasn't all
tuckered out, that I couldn't wear a pink silk dress that's there if
I tone it down with black."

"I don't believe you would feel that you could go to meeting dressed
in pink silk at your time of life," said Henry.

"Lots of women older than I be wear bright colors," retorted Sylvia,
"in places where they are dressy. You don't know anything about
dress, Henry."

"I suppose I don