imself.

Hetty Scott was but seventeen when Barry met her, and already the
winner in two village contests for beauty and popularity. After their
marriage she and Barry went to San Francisco, and shrewd, little,
beautiful Hetty found herself more admired than ever, and began to talk
of the stage. After that, Santa Paloma heard only occasional rumors:
Barry had a position on a New York paper, and Hetty was studying in a
dramatic school; there was a baby; there were financial troubles, and
Barry was drinking again; then Hetty was dead, and Barry, fearing the
severe eastern winters for the delicate baby, was coming back to Santa
Paloma. So back they came, and there had been no indication since, that
the restless, ambitious Barry of years ago was not dead forever.

"No smoking?" said Barry now, good-naturedly. "That's so; you've got
some sort of 'High Jinks' on for to-night, haven't you? I brought up
those hinges for your mixing table, Jen," he went on, "but any time
will do. I suppose the kitchen is right on the fault, as it were."

"The kitchen DOES look earthquakey," admitted Mrs. Carew with a laugh,
"but the girls would be glad to have the extra table; so go right
ahead. I'll take you out in a second. I have been on the GO," she added
wearily, "since seven this morning: my feet are like balls of fire. You
don't know what the details are. Why, just tying up the prizes takes a
good HOUR!"

"Anything go wrong?" asked the man sympathetically.

"Oh, no; nothing particular. But you know how a house has to LOOK! Even
the bathrooms, and our room, and the spare room--the children do get
things so mussed. It all sounds so simple; but it takes such a time."

"Well, Annie--doesn't she do these things?"

"Oh, ordinarily she does! But she was sweeping all morning, we moved
things about so last night, and there was china, and glasses to get
down, and the porches--"

"But, Jeanette," said Barry Valentine patiently, "don't you keep this
house clean enough ordinarily without these orgies of cleaning the
minute anybody comes in? I never knew such a house for women to open
windows, and tie up curtains, and put towels over their hair, and run
around with buckets of cold suds. Why this extra fuss?"

"Well, it's not all cleaning," said Mrs. Carew, a little annoyed. "It's
largely supper; and I'm not giving anything LIKE the suppers Mrs. White
and Mrs. Adams give."

"Why don't they eat at home?" said Mr. Valentine hospitably. "What do