ve anew."

"But you'd get tired of it if you had to milk a cow that can pop her
tail like a whip," and after churning vigorously for a time, she
inquired: "Did you have trouble away off yonder where so many folks
live?"

"Yes, my married life ended in misery."

Lou ceased to churn and for a time stood musing. "Did you' husband tell
you a lie?"

"He lived a lie, my dear."

"Lived a lie? I don't understand how anybody can do that. Didn't he love
you?"

"Once, perhaps, but the love of some men is as variable as the wind,
blowing in many directions."

"But how could he tell you he loved you if he didn't?"

"My dear, men tell women many things that aren't true."

"I don't like to know that." She ceased churning again and thoughtfully
leaned upon the dasher. Suddenly she looked up and then came the
question: "And did they put yo' husband in jail?"

"Oh, no."

"What did they do with him?"

"His friends shrugged their shoulders, laughed and--forgave him."

"And didn't yo' friends try to kill him?"

"Oh, certainly not."

"What did they do?"

"Well, they shrugged--and didn't forgive me."

"But they had nothing to forgive," she replied, with a frown.

"In the world, my dear, that makes no difference." She was silent for a
time and the girl stood motionless, looking at her. "Sometimes I have
thought," she continued, "that it was not altogether his fault. With the
error of tenderness and confidence I believed that my life was his, his
mine; I believed that his every thought belonged to me--and perhaps I
asked him too many questions, and when a woman begins to do that, she is
unconsciously setting a trap for her husband."

For a moment the girl looked at her. "I don't know what you mean. But
when you came here with all yo' putty dresses, I thought you must be
happy."

"Little girl, there are many well-dressed troubles, and misery may
gleam with diamonds. But we won't talk about it. I have battled it out
and now I am surprised--and perhaps just a little disappointed," she
added with a laugh, "to find that I'm not as unhappy as I was. Sometimes
there is a consolation in feeling that we are utterly wretched."

"Is there?" She meditated for a time, puzzled, and then said: "I don't
believe it. You might just as well say that we have better health when
we're sick."

Mrs. Mayfield looked away, and the girl stricken with remorse, hastened
to her and said: "There, I have been too brash, haven't I? You must
forgi