out
her; but, you see, this is the fifteenth year that I have had to do it."

"I should think it would have unmanned you for life," said Richling.

"It made a man of me! I've never felt young a day since, and yet I've
never seemed to grow a day older. It brought me all at once to my full
manhood. I have never consciously disputed God's arrangements since. The
man who does is only a wayward child."

"It's true," said Richling, with an air of confession, "it's true;" and
they fell into silence.

Presently Richling looked around the room. His eyes brightened rapidly
as he beheld the ranks and tiers of good books. He breathed an audible
delight. The multitude of volumes rose in the old-fashioned way, in
ornate cases of dark wood from floor to ceiling, on this hand, on that,
before him, behind; some in gay covers,--green, blue, crimson,--with
gilding and embossing; some in the sumptuous leathers of France, Russia,
Morocco, Turkey; others in worn attire, battered and venerable, dingy
but precious,--the gray heads of the council.

The two men rose and moved about among those silent wits and
philosophers, and, from the very embarrassment of the inner riches, fell
to talking of letter-press and bindings, with maybe some effort on the
part of each to seem the better acquainted with Caxton, the Elzevirs,
and other like immortals. They easily passed to a competitive
enumeration of the rare books they had seen or not seen here and there
in other towns and countries. Richling admitted he had travelled, and
the conversation turned upon noted buildings and famous old nooks in
distant cities where both had been. So they moved slowly back to their
chairs, and stood by them, still contemplating the books. But as they
sank again into their seats the one thought which had fastened itself in
the minds of both found fresh expression.

Richling began, smilingly, as if the subject had not been dropped at
all,--"I oughtn't to speak as if I didn't realize my good fortune, for I
do."

"I believe you do," said the Doctor, reaching toward the fire-irons.

"Yes. Still, I lose patience with myself to find myself taking Mary's
absence so hard."

"All hardships are comparative," said the Doctor.

"Certainly they are," replied Richling. "I lie sometimes and think of
men who have been political prisoners, shut away from wife and children,
with war raging outside and no news coming in."

"Think of the common poor," exclaimed Dr. Sevier,--"the