will be a moon to-night, and when there is a moon long streaks of light
fall on her bed. I shall awake at midnight to-night. She will be lying
asleep with one arm thrown over her head.

"What is that I am talking about? A man does not speak of his wife lying
in bed. What I am trying to say is that, because of this talk, I shall
think of the other woman to-night. My thoughts will not take the form
they did the week before I was married. I will wonder what has become of
the woman. For a moment I will again feel myself holding her close. I
will think that for an hour I was closer to her than I have ever been to
anyone else. Then I will think of the time when I will be as close as
that to my wife. She is still, you see, an awakening woman. For a moment
I will close my eyes and the quick, shrewd, determined eyes of that
other woman will look into mine. My head will swim and then I will
quickly open my eyes and see again the dear woman with whom I have
undertaken to live out my life. Then I will sleep and when I awake in
the morning it will be as it was that evening when I walked out of my
dark apartment after having had the most notable experience of my life.
What I mean to say, you understand, is that, for me, when I awake, the
other woman will be utterly gone."

FOOTNOTE:

[2] Copyright, 1920, by Margaret C. Anderson. Copyright, 1921, by
Sherwood Anderson.

GARGOYLE[3]

By EDWINA STANTON BABCOCK

From _Harper's Magazine_

Gargoyle stole up the piazza steps. His arms were full of field flowers.
He stood there staring over his burden.

A hush fell upon tea- and card-tables. The younger women on the Strang
veranda glanced at one another. The girl at the piano hesitated in her
light stringing of musical sentences.

John Strang rose. "Not now, Gargoyle, old man." Taking the flowers from
the thin hands, he laid them on the rug at his wife's feet, then gently
motioned the intruder away. Gargoyle flitted contentedly down the broad
steps to the smooth drive, and was soon hidden by masses of rhododendron
on the quadrangle.

Only one guest raised questioning eyebrows as Strang resumed his seat.
This girl glanced over his shoulder at the aimless child straying off
into the trees.

"I should think an uncanny little person like that would get on Mrs.
Strang's nerves; he gives me the creeps!"

"Yes? Mrs. Strang is hardly as sensitive as you might suppose. What do
you say of a lady who enjoys putting the worms on h