keeping his end
up." Moreover, he employed a good tailor and was careful to keep up an
appearance of sound financial standing. But his home, which he avoided
as much as possible, had little share in his personal prosperity. Mary
Hopkins's requests for new and decent gowns were more often refused than
acceded to, and he constantly cautioned her to keep down expenses or she
would drive them both to the poor-house.

The woman well knew that Erastus could afford to keep her in luxury, if
he would, but some women are so constituted that they accept their fate
rather than rebel, and Mary Hopkins lived the life of a slave,
contenting herself with petty scoldings and bickerings that did nothing
to relieve her hard lot.

She had little interest in politics and resented the intrusion of the
many who came to the house to see and consult with her husband during
the tiresome political campaigns. On these occasions Mr. Hopkins used
the sitting-room as his office and committee headquarters, but this did
not materially interfere with his wife's comfort, as she was usually
busy in the kitchen.

On this Saturday evening, however, they had an early supper and she
finished her dishes betimes and sat down to darn stockings in the
sitting-room. Erastus had hurried away to a meeting of his henchmen in
the town, and would not be home until after his wife was in bed.

So she was rather surprised when a timid knock sounded upon the door.
She opened it to find a little, lean man standing upon the porch.

"Mrs. Hopkins?" he asked, quietly.

"Yes. What do you want?"

"Your husband asked me to come here and wait for him. It's important or
I wouldn't disturb you."

"Well, then; come in," she replied, tartly. "Thank the Lord this thing
is nearly over, and we'll have a few weeks of peace."

"It is rather imposing on you," remarked the man, following her to the
sitting-room, where he sat down with his hat in his hands. "A political
campaign is trying to everybody. I'm tired out and sick of the whole
thing myself."

"Then why don't you chuck it," she retorted, scornfully, "and go to work
makin' an honest living?"

"Oh, this is honest enough," he said, mildly.

"I don't believe it. All them secret confabs an' trickery to win votes
can't be on the square. Don't talk to me! Politics is another name for
rascality!"

"Perhaps you're right, ma'am; perhaps you're right," he said, with a
sigh.

She looked at him sharply.

"You don't belong i