acy of our humble barn--

"Oh!" she cried. "I could _die_! Why did you have to say that to
Mr. Burton?"

"Amanda!"

She subsided, but she had not surrendered.

"You didn't tell me you had an engagement with him. What----"

Todd laughed. "I was chosen this week, my dear, as a grievance
committee of one, representing the teaching staff at the college, to
put a few cold facts into John Quincy Burton's ear."

"You?"

"Precisely, my dear. I was the only man in the faculty who seemed to
have the--the self-confidence necessary. And I made Burton see the
point. I have his promise that the college trustees will campaign
the state this summer for a half-million-dollar emergency fund, a
good slice of which will go toward salary increases."

"Well! I must say----"

She did not say it. Silently she left us.

He lingered a while in the barn. He opened my hood, for I was quite
warm from the towing job. He examined a new cut in one of my tires
and loosened my hand-brake a notch. He couldn't seem to find enough
to do for me.

From the house came a hail. I am not sure that he did not hold his
breath as he listened.

"James, dear!" again.

"Hello!" he answered.

"James, dear, won't you bring your automobile pliers, please, and
see if you can open this jar of marmalade?"

My little man went in whistling.

THE THING THEY LOVED

BY MARICE RUTLEDGE

From _The Century Magazine_

"_They had vowed to live only for one another. The theme of their
love was sublime enough, but the instruments were fallible. Human
beings can rarely sustain a lofty note beyond the measure of a
supreme moment_."

When she told her husband that David Cannon had arranged for her a
series of recitals in South America, she looked to him for swift
response. She was confident that anything touching on her
professional life would kindle his eye and warm his voice. It was,
in fact, that professional life as she interpreted it with the mind
of an artist, the heart of a child, which had first drawn him to her;
he had often admitted as much. During one year of rare comradeship
he had never failed in his consideration for her work. He would know,
she felt sure, that to go on a concert tour with David Cannon, to
sing David Cannon's songs under such conditions, presented good
fortune in more than one way. He would rejoice accordingly.

But his "Why, my dear, South America!" came flatly upon her
announcement. It lacked the upward ring, and his