ghter, "it is too late for asparagus and too early
for potatoes. I am afraid you forget about these things when you are at
sea."

"Not at all," said her father. "On shipboard we cut our asparagus at any
time of the year. The steward does it with a big knife, which he jabs
through the covers of the tin cans. As for potatoes, they are always
with us."

The Mistress of the House was now prepared to tell her story.

"I am going to tell my story in the first person," she began.

"There is no better person," interrupted the Master of the House.

"I do not intend to describe my hero who is to tell the story,"
continued his wife. "I will only say that he is moderately young and
moderately handsome. Various other things about him you will find out as
the story goes on. Now, then, he begins thus: I was driving my wife in a
buggy in a mountainous region, and when we reached the top of a little
rise in the road, Anita put her hand on my arm. 'Stop,' she said; 'look
down there! That is what I like! It is a cot and a rill. You see that
cot--not much of a house, to be sure, but it would do. And there, just
near enough for the water to tumble over rocks and gurgle over stones to
soothe one to sleep on summer nights, is the rill--not much of a rill,
perhaps, but I think it could be arranged with a shovel. And then, all
the rest is enchanting. I had been looking at it for some time before I
spoke. There is a smooth meadow stretching away to a forest, and behind
that there are hills, and in the distance you can just see the
mountains. Now this is the place where I should like to live. Isn't
there any way of making those horses stand still for a minute?'

"I tried my persuasive powers on the animals, and succeeded moderately.
'To live?' I asked. 'And for how long?'

"'Until about the 3d of August,' she replied. 'That will be about three
weeks.'

"'You mean,' I said in surprise, 'something like this.'

"'I do not,' answered Anita. 'I mean this very spot. To find something
like it would require months. What I want, as I have told you over and
over again, is a real cot with a real rill, to which we can go now and
live for a little while that unsophisticated life for which my soul is
longing.'

"Anita and I were taking a summer outing together, and were trying to
get into free nature, away from people we knew, and had been several
days at a mountain hotel, and were driving about the country. My black
cobs now declined to stand any