this
night by way of celebrating our victory," he said, looking down at her.

"If I was twenty years younger there'd be no such victory to celebrate,
John," she replied, "so you wouldn't have asked me!"

"You should see Coleman and Acres. They are taking all the credit of the
election, strutting like fighting cocks on the square!"

"Let them have it. I'd rather the world should think the men gave us the
ballot willingly, and that it should never be known that we beat them
out of it," she said, heaving a sigh of relief.

* * * * *

A young man and a young woman were seated behind the vine on the veranda
three doors down the avenue. His arm was about her waist, her head upon
his shoulder. The moon was doing what she could to cover them with the
mottled shadows of leaves.

"Could you manage it in two weeks, dear? I want you for my wife before I
begin my own campaign! We'd make a honeymoon of it then, canvassing it
together!" he pleaded softly.

"I'll marry you, Bob, but not for such a honeymoon as that! Oh, I'm sick
and tired of politics. I never want to hear the word again. I'll just
barely vote for you, that's all!" she sighed.

"Upon my word," he laughed, drawing her closer and kissing her. "I
thought you'd be keen for the canvass."

[Illustration: "'_Bob, I'll make a confession to you. It's been horrid,
from first to last. When we are married I want to sit at home and darn
your socks--you do wear holes in them, don't you?_'"]

"Bob!" she said, sitting up and looking at him solemnly, "I'll make a
confession to you, now it's over and we have won; it's been horrid, from
first to last. When we are married I want to sit at home and darn your
socks--you do wear holes in them, don't you?" She laughed hysterically.
"I believe it would relieve some outraged instinct in me if I could iron
your shirts! Isn't it awful! I _crave_ to do just the woman things--to
serve you and father. I feel as if nothing else will ever naturalize me
again as a woman!"

After an ineffable pause, during which her lover had laid a laughing
tribute upon her lips and brow, she added:

"Poor father, I wonder where he is?"

"Saw him going down the avenue as I came up, with an enormous bunch of
flowers in his hand," Bob told her.

"Poor father" was, in fact, approaching Mrs. Sasnett at that moment, who
was seated in mournful but resplendent grandeur upon a rustic bench
beneath the trees in her yard.

She wa