o the comparative coolness of the parlor, closing
the dining-room door behind her.

She was quite tired enough to cry after several nights of broken rest
and days of constant discomfort and irritation; but a sense of rising
anger kept the tears back.

"Of course I love him!" she said to herself aloud but softly,
remembering the baby, "And no doubt he loves me! I'm glad to be his
wife! I'm glad to be a mother to his child! I'm glad I married him!
But--_this_ is not what he offered! And it's not what I undertook! He
hasn't had to change his business!"

She marched up and down the scant space, and then stopped short and
laughed drily, continuing her smothered soliloquy.

"'Do you love me?' they ask, and, 'I will make you happy!' they say; and
you get married--and after that it's Housework!"

"They don't say, 'Will you be my Cook?' 'Will you be my Chamber maid?'
'Will you give up a good clean well-paid business that you love--that
has big hope and power and beauty in it--and come and keep house for
me?'"

"Love him? I'd be in Paris this minute if I didn't! What has 'love' to
do with dust and grease and flies!"

Then she did drop on the small sofa and cry tempestuously for a little
while; but soon arose, fiercely ashamed of her weakness, and faced the
day; thinking of the old lady who had so much to do she couldn't think
what to first--so she sat down and made a pincushion.

Then--where to begin!

"Eddie will sleep till half-past ten--if I'm lucky. It's now nearly
half-past nine," she meditated aloud. "If I do the upstairs work I might
wake him. I mustn't forget the bread, the dishes, the parlor--O those
flies! Well--I'll clear the table first!"

Stepping softly, and handling the dishes with slow care, she cleaned the
breakfast table and darkened the dining-room, flapping out some of the
flies with a towel. Then she essayed the parlor, dusting and arranging
with undecided steps. "It _ought_ to be swept," she admitted to herself;
"I can't do it--there isn't time. I'll make it dark--"

"I'd rather plan a dozen houses!" she fiercely muttered, as she fussed
about. "Yes--I'd rather build 'em--than to keep one clean!"

Then were her hopes dashed by a rising wail from above. She sat quite
still awhile, hoping against hope that he would sleep again; but he
wouldn't. So she brought him down in full cry.

In her low chair by the window she held him and produced bright and
jingling objects from the tall workbasket that