nk of something else in the midst of every
important moment.

There proved to be two papers in the town, as of old, but the _Argus_
was now published twice a week, Wednesdays and Saturdays. The wanderer
eagerly scanned its columns for familiar names and for something of the
town's old tone; but with little success.

Said one item, "A string of electric lights, on a street leading up one
of our hills, looks like a necklace of brilliants on the bosom of the
night." Old Little Arcady had not electric lights; nor the _Argus_ this
exuberance of simile.

Again: "This new game of golf that the summer folks play seems to have
too much walking for a good game and just enough game to spoil a good
walk." Golf in the Little Country!

The advent of musical culture was signified by this: "At least thirty
girls in this town can play the first part of 'Narcissus' pretty well.
But when they come to the second part they mangle the keys for a minute
and then say, 'I don't care much for that second part--do you?' Why
don't some of them learn it and give us a chance to judge?"

The _Argus_ had acquired a "Woman's Department," conducted by Mrs.
Aurelia Potts Denney, wife of the editor,--a public-spirited woman,
prominent in club circles, and said to be of great assistance to her
husband in his editorial duties. The town was proud of her, and sent her
as delegate to the Federation of Woman's Clubs; her name, indeed, has
been printed in full more than once, even by Chicago newspapers. Some
say that wisely she might give more attention to her twin sons, Hayes
and Wheeler Denney; but this likely is ill-natured carping, for Hayes
and Wheeler seem not more lawless than other twins of eight. And
carpers, to a certainty, do exist in Little Arcady.

One Westley Keyts, for example, lounging in the doorway of his
meat-shop, renewed acquaintance with the wanderer, who remembered him as
a glum-faced but not bad-hearted chap. Names recalled and hands shaken,
Mr. Keyts began to lament the simple ways of an elder day, glancing
meanwhile with honest disapproval at a newly installed competitor across
the street. The shop itself was something of an affront, its gilt name
more--"The Bon Ton Market." Mr. Keyts pronounced "Bon Ton" in his own
fashion, but his contempt was ably and amply expressed.

"Sounds like one of them fancy names for a corset or a patent lamp," he
complained. "It's this here summer business that done it. They swarm in
here with their