re was a relief and pleasure to all the family. He observed a
strict impartiality. If he split some kindling-wood for Armida, he
churned for Lucas. If he took Armida's old horse to be shod, he helped
Lucas wash his sheep. He accepted everything, asking no questions
after the first evening, but kept an observant eye on all.

Both Lucas and Armida had loved him since their earliest remembrance,
and retained their old fondness for him now. He was a welcome guest on
either side of the kitchen, and though when he announced of an evening
that he was going visiting, and stepped across the line to the other
side of the half from where he had been sitting, the owner of the
side he honored felt pleased by the distinction, yet the one on the
opposite side, though no longer (according to an understood law)
joining in the conversation, still had the benefit of Theodore's
narratives.

[Illustration: EVENING IN THE DIVIDED KITCHEN.]

He was busy, too, in his way. He was indefatigable in berry-picking
and herb-gathering, selling what Armida and Lucas did not wish, and
showing not a little shrewdness. When he had laid a little money
together he bought a still, and distilled essences of peppermint,
wintergreen, and other sweet-smelling herbs and roots, and when a
store was accumulated he filled a basket and departed on a peddling
expedition, returning with money in his purse and a handkerchief or
ribbon for Armida. Once he bought her a stuff gown, which she came
near ruining by weeping over it, it was such a delight.

Lucas remonstrated. "I think you're foolish, Theodore. Why don't
you spend your money on yourself? You'd a sight better get you a new
coat."

"I'd rather see Armida crying over that stuff," said Theodore, "than
have a dozen coats. Nobody knows Armida's good looking, because she's
no good clothes. But she is, and when she gets that dress made up and
puts it on with that pink ribbon I bought her last time, she'll look
as pretty as a pink."

Not so great a success were the Venetian blinds that he bought
second-hand and gave to Armida to hang in the sitting-room. They
proved to be in sorry condition, and Theodore was much mortified.
Being a handy creature, he managed to patch them up so that, though
they could not be rolled up, they looked very well from the outside;
and, as he philosophically remarked:

"What more do you want, Armidy? A room you never set in, you don't
want any light in."

There was one thing that T