by good fortune, to be cold bacon in the larder.

My poor little wife was in such affliction when she thought I should be
annoyed, and in such a state of joy when she found I was not, that the
discomfiture I had subdued, very soon vanished, and we passed a happy
evening; Dora sitting with her arm on my chair while Traddles and I
discussed a glass of wine, and taking every opportunity of whispering
in my ear that it was so good of me not to be a cruel, cross old boy. By
and by she made tea for us; which it was so pretty to see her do, as if
she was busying herself with a set of doll's tea-things, that I was not
particular about the quality of the beverage. Then Traddles and I played
a game or two at cribbage; and Dora singing to the guitar the while,
it seemed to me as if our courtship and marriage were a tender dream
of mine, and the night when I first listened to her voice were not yet
over.

When Traddles went away, and I came back into the parlour from seeing
him out, my wife planted her chair close to mine, and sat down by my
side. 'I am very sorry,' she said. 'Will you try to teach me, Doady?'

'I must teach myself first, Dora,' said I. 'I am as bad as you, love.'

'Ah! But you can learn,' she returned; 'and you are a clever, clever
man!'

'Nonsense, mouse!' said I.

'I wish,' resumed my wife, after a long silence, 'that I could have gone
down into the country for a whole year, and lived with Agnes!'

Her hands were clasped upon my shoulder, and her chin rested on them,
and her blue eyes looked quietly into mine.

'Why so?' I asked.

'I think she might have improved me, and I think I might have learned
from her,' said Dora.

'All in good time, my love. Agnes has had her father to take care of for
these many years, you should remember. Even when she was quite a child,
she was the Agnes whom we know,' said I.

'Will you call me a name I want you to call me?' inquired Dora, without
moving.

'What is it?' I asked with a smile.

'It's a stupid name,' she said, shaking her curls for a moment.
'Child-wife.'

I laughingly asked my child-wife what her fancy was in desiring to be so
called. She answered without moving, otherwise than as the arm I twined
about her may have brought her blue eyes nearer to me:

'I don't mean, you silly fellow, that you should use the name instead
of Dora. I only mean that you should think of me that way. When you are
going to be angry with me, say to yourself, "it's only my c