fore, a sense of boredom, of ennui, so
intense that it was almost a pain. The deadly monotony of it wearied
him. For the first time in his life his harness of duty chafed his
spirit. He was so tired of seeing the same train, the same commuters,
taking the same path across the station to the ferry-boat, being
jostled by the same throng, going to the same office, performing the
same, or practically the same, duties, that his very soul was
irritated. He had reached a point where he not only needed but
demanded a change, but the change was as impossible, without
destruction, as for a planet to leave its orbit.

Ida saw the deepening of the frown on his forehead and the
lengthening of the lines around his mouth.

"Poor old man!" said she. "I wish I had a fortune to give you, so you
wouldn't have to go."

The words were fairly cooing, but the tone was still harsh. However,
Harry brightened. He regarded this lovely, blooming creature and
inhaled again the odor of dinner, and reflected with a sense of
gratitude upon his mercies. Harry had a grateful heart, and was
always ready to blame himself.

"Oh, I should be lost, go all to pieces, if I quit work," he said,
laughing. "If I were left a fortune, I should land in an insane
asylum very likely, or take to drink. No, dear, you can't teach such
an old bird new tricks; he's been in one tree too long, summer and
winter."

"Well, after all, you have not got to go out to-day," remarked Ida,
skilfully, and Harry again stretched himself with a sense of present
comfort.

"That is so, dear," he said.

"I have something you like for supper, too," said Ida, "and I think
George Adams and Louisa may drop in and we can have some music."

Harry brightened still more. He liked George Adams, and the wife had
more than a talent for music, of which Harry was passionately fond.
She played wonderfully on Ida's well-tuned grand piano.

"I thought you might like it," said Ida, "and I spoke to Louisa as I
was coming out of church."

"You were very kind, sweetheart," Harry said, and again a flood of
gratitude seemed to sweeten life for the man.

Ida took another step in her sequence.

"I think Maria had better stay up, if they do come," said she. "She
enjoys music so much. She can keep on her new gown. Maria is so
careful of her gowns that I never feel any anxiety about her soiling
them."

"She is just like--" began Harry, then he stopped. He had been about
to state that Maria was just