The little touch of sentiment that flashed, as it were, from Randolph Chance as he lifted me off the pier, was presently blotted, as far as effect upon me was concerned, by the return of Miss Sprig to the Purblind household, and the renewal of his attentions to her. At least I regarded them as renewed, and I coldly turned my back upon him, and let him go his way, without further thought or speculation.

I was daily becoming more interested in another acquaintance—Mr. Gregory, a man of years, whom I had known for some time. He had been a visitor at our house when my parents were living, and had, from time to time, shown me friendly attentions since their death. He frequently invited me to places of entertainment, something Randolph Chance seldom did, and in many ways contributed to my comfort and happiness. Single women are very dependent upon their men friends for pleasures of this sort; few of them care to go out at night alone, and even when they go in company with each other, the occasion lacks a zest which belongs to it when a woman has an escort. It is strange that many men—many of those who believe in the dependence of women, fall into the selfish habit of going alone to theater, concert, and lecture, and so force the women of their acquaintance into a position which their sentiments would seem to deprecate.

While in no way obtrusive, or gushing in his attentions, Mr. Gregory was most thoughtful and kind, and few women are without appreciation of conduct of this type.

Life flowed on with me with a quiet current. I was not a woman to make scenes with myself or others, and my circumstances were such as to permit of an undisturbed tenor of way.

One bright afternoon, just as I returned from a long walk, Mrs. Purblind ran over to see me, and soon afterward, Mrs. Cynic dropped in. I never could bear this latter woman; something malevolent seems to emanate from her; something that is more or less unhealthful to the moral nature of all who come in contact with it, just as the miasma from a swamp is poisonous to the physical being.

It chanced that I had just finished writing a little story, drawn from the life-page of my domestic experience; it was so endeared to my memory that I was not like to forget it, and yet, in the course of years, its outlines would probably fade a trifle if I did not take care to preserve their distinctness; for that reason I had written it out.

I ought to have had better sense than to read anything of this kind to Mrs. Cynic. In the presence of such people, that which is fresh, beautiful, and holy withers, as a cluster of dewy wild flowers is parched and killed by the hot, sterile breath of a furnace.

Usually I have some judgment in such matters, but that day all discretion seemed to take wings.

A remark of Mrs. Purblind’s led up to the subject. This little woman can say ugly things at times, but they are stung out of her, as it were, by some particular hurt, and are not the expression of her real nature. She has a kind, good heart, though her judgment and tact are somewhat lacking.

We happened to be speaking of men, and something was said about their capacity for devotion, when Mrs. Purblind exclaimed:

“Devotion! the masculine nature doesn’t know the meaning of the word, unless it is devotion to self.”“I must read you a little story I’ve written to-day. It’s a true one, remember—I think I shall call it, ‘Devotion’.”

I went to my desk, took out the manuscript, and read as follows:

“A few years ago I owned a pair of foxhounds. Duke was the gentleman of the family, and Lady was his consort, and a lady she was indeed. I can hardly imagine a human creature of greater intelligence and refinement than this dumb beast. The attachment between herself and Duke was unique in its strength, and in its demonstration. He was fully as noble and as intelligent as she, but of a less lively, cheerful temperament. The arrival of six little Dukes was an occasion of anxiety and excitement for us all, and we were much relieved when the event was safely over, and we saw Lady and her beautiful family established in peace and comfort. Matters had run smoothly for about four or five weeks, when one day I was startled by a series of sharp yelps, which I knew came from Lady. I ran to the window, and saw the poor creature rolling in the middle of the street, in the greatest pain. By her side was Duke, and his outcries mingled with hers. The hard-hearted teamster, whose wagon had done the mischief, had driven off, but I ran to the rescue, and finally got her into the stable, where her little ones were awaiting her. She only lived a few hours, and her last act was an effort to nurse her clamorous doggies, while with her great, sad eyes she seemed to say good-by to Duke! The grief of this noble fellow was so great that we thought he would go mad. For a time he refused to let us come near her. He stood over her, licking her senseless form, pushing her gently once in a while with his head and paws, and then uttering lamentable cries when he saw that she did not move, or in any way respond; and meanwhile the tiny dogs were crawling over her, and mingling their voices with their father’s deep notes of distress. It was a most pitiable sight, and we all breathed a sigh of relief when the dear old fellow permitted us to lead him off into the house, and we had an opportunity to dispose of poor Lady. I’ll not try to tell of Duke’s excitement and distress when he missed her; of his frantic search all over the place, and of how we followed him about, and talked to him, and tried to divert him; or how we all—Duke, and the rest of us, finally sat down in the stable, beside the motherless little family, and wept together.

“The morning after Lady died, I went out to the stable with a cup of warm milk. I had not been able to do anything with the puggy little dogs the evening before, but I thought that their sharp hunger, after several hours of abstinence, would lead them to make an effort to drink. I carried a spoon with me, also a rag to suck, and a bottle, with a nipple—all kinds of appliances, in fact.

“What was my surprise upon entering the stable, to find Duke occupying Lady’s place. He was evidently trying to answer the small dogs’ clamorous demand for breakfast, and it was also plain that his failure in this respect amazed and bewildered him. He lay down just as he had seen Lady do, and when this did not suffice he tried another position; failing again, he withdrew a few paces, and sat for a moment in an attitude of profound thought; returning soon, and trying another device. This resulting unfavorably, he made still another, and then another attempt, and finally, grieved to the heart, and worried by the hungry cries of the small dogs, he withdrew once more, and lifting his nose high in air, deliberately yowled.

“At this point I obtruded myself upon the scene and went up to the dear old dog, took his distressed head in my arms, and talked to him. I explained to him the difficulty of the situation; how, owing to circumstances quite beyond his control, he could not take Lady’s place. I urged upon him that he must yield gracefully to his limitations; showed him my appliances, and then when I had soothed and interested him, and he had consented to desist, and let me try, I made my essay.

“It was a study for an artist—my appealing, pitying, impatient, scolding efforts to induce those unreasonable little creatures to accept a rag, or a bottle in place of a mother. I shouldn’t have cared so much, that is, I could have taken longer without minding it, had it not been for Duke. His anxiety was so great, and his distress over their cries so keen, that I was quite unnerved, and as is often the case, I showed my concern by scolding and abusing the objects in whose behalf I was exerting myself.

“I was all but ready to give up, when one of the smallest and liveliest of the puppies (a feminine creature, of course) suddenly seized upon the nipple of the bottle with a lusty grip, and sucked away till she was all but strangled with milk. Her example was speedily followed by the others, but before I had gone the rounds Duke comprehended that our trials were ended, and then—well, the dignified, sad-faced old doggie took leave of his wits, temporarily, as well as his dignity. He capered, he rolled on the ground, he barked, he bayed, he played leap-frog over my head, did everything but stand on end, and very nearly that, in his joy.

“From that time on he never failed to be present when his infants were fed, and when I weaned them, and taught them to drink, he was an interested spectator; helpful too, for one time when a small dog was obdurate, he took him by the nape of the neck, and shook him thoroughly, before turning him over to me for another trial. On another occasion, the pig of the family drank too deep, as it were, from the flowing bowl, and might have been drowned had it not been for his watchful parent. Duke noticed that the small fore-quarters were plunged into the liquid dinner; he also observed that the hind quarters were slowly rising in midair. He watched all this, with his accustomed, kindly gravity, until the equilibrium was lost, and Master Pup plunged into the pearly sea. Then the startled father leaped to his feet, snatched his offspring from a milky grave, and laid him, sneezing and choking, sadder and wiser, on the sunny grass-plat to dry.

“In due time Duke recovered, in a measure, from his grief over Lady’s death, and took unto himself another partner. As is usual in the case of widowers, his second choice was injudicious, for Fanchon was a giddy, young thing, that didn’t have sense enough to come in out of the rain.

“But Duke saw no defects; he was all tenderness and attention.

“It was early winter, but the weather was intensely cold, and we had taken Duke and Fanchon in from the stable, and had housed them comfortably in the cellar.

“One night I was wakened out of a sound sleep by cries of distress. I called my sister and her husband, who were visiting me, and in various costumes, all hands went below. Fanchon was running about, crying and moaning, and Duke was alternately making frantic efforts to soothe her, and kiyiying in a manner that was fearful to hear. We succeeded at last in getting Fanchon to heed us, and coaxed her to settle down in a comfortable bed we made for her on the far side of the cellar, where she would have the benefit of the warmth from the furnace, and would be out of the way of the cold air which came in through a window, broken the day before.

“As soon as she was pacified, Duke was again happy, and he cheerfully lay down to rest. We retired to our rooms, and being very weary, with much sightseeing during the day, dropped into a sound sleep. The next morning I hurried down into the cellar, wondering whether I should see two dogs, or a dozen. To my surprise and dismay, I saw none at all. The cellar was silent and deserted. I opened the outer door, and with a failing heart, stepped into the clear, bitter cold of a temperature something like fifteen degrees below zero. Just around the corner of the house, in a nook slightly sheltered from the biting air, I came upon the family. Fanchon lay upon the ground, the snow carefully pushed up around her, and her clinging little ones, who were taking their breakfast. Over all—Fanchon and her puppies—covering them with his faithful body—shielding them with his never-failing love and devotion, was my noble hound—as noble, as faithful a dog, as ever man or woman loved. I called to him, and rubbed him, but all in vain, and meanwhile stupid, silly Fanchon, that had foolishly left her warm bed in the cellar, looked on with cheerful indifference, and wagged her tail.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Cynic, when I had concluded the reading, “that story seems to me to prove but one thing.”“And what is that, pray?” I asked, realizing I had been foolish to read such a tale to such an auditor.

“Why, the truth of Madame de StaËl’s remark: ‘The more I see of men, the more I admire dogs.’”

That hateful woman! She always leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth. I know she springs from some corrupt ancestry. She has all the marks of inward decay upon her.

When she had gone, Mrs. Purblind and I breathed more freely.

“She doesn’t believe in anything good,” said Mrs. Purblind.

“No,” I answered in a tone of disgust, “she has nothing within her to answer to it.”

“How different she is from Mrs. Earnest,” continued Mrs. Purblind; “why, you can hardly convince that woman that anyone is really mean, and goodness knows she has trouble enough to make her bitter. What a husband she’s got! That man makes me so mad! He’s ugly from sheer badness.”

I thought for a moment, and then I assented. I really do believe that man is ugly without cause. He and his wife live at some distance from us, and I’ve often visited them. I should like to give you a scene to which I was witness one evening when I was a trifle ill, and lay on a divan just out of their dining room.

Mrs. Earnest is like a delicate flower that lifts its pretty face and smiles in the sunlight of love, but is bowed and broken ’neath the thunder-cloud and storm. She longs to make her home attractive, but her husband has no sympathy with this desire; to him home is merely the place where he finds food and lodging, and a safety valve for such moods and tempers as he is obliged to keep under control in the business world.

The efforts that this poor little wife makes, in her timid way, to start up pleasant subjects of conversation would move a rock to tears.This is the scene, as I recall it—a specimen scene.

The family—husband, wife, and three little children were at dinner, as I said.

“What’s been happening to-day? anything of interest?” asked the little wife.

“Not that I know of,” was the gruff reply.

Silence, broken by the occasional sound of eating implements, ensued.

“Pass the bread, will you?” he said in a short tone, directly.

“See how you like this bread; we are trying the entire wheat flour. I think it’s very nice tasting, and they claim it’s rich in nutrition. It’s warranted to make blood, bone, and muscle—brain, too, I believe. I’m going to eat several pounds a day; I may astonish the world yet.”

This feeble joke was received in stolid silence, and the poor little wife crept into her shell.

After a time she peeped out again, and made another effort.“I went to the womans’ club this afternoon; Mrs. Pierson invited me. They had a very interesting meeting; they brought up the subject of smoke consumers. I never realized before how much property is ruined yearly by the smoke. It does seem as if manufacturers ought to use consumers.”

At this point Bruin openly yawned, and the little wife again retired. But with astonishing elasticity of courage she issued from her shell once more, this time with the hope that a more masculine theme would meet with some response.

“They brought a petition around here to-day for us to sign. It seems there is some talk of flooring the reservoir and using it as a beer garden this coming summer, and the neighborhood has been called upon to protest against it.”

“I know all about that,” he growled.

“Have you signed it?”

“I have.”

Again silence fell as a wet cloak upon them, and the little woman sat there racking her brains, almost depleted by this time, for the atmosphere which such a man as that creates is warranted to dry up all the intellectual juices.

One more despairing effort. The children had now left the table, so anecdotes of them were in order. Probably the poor little wife thought that this man could be wakened into attention by a story about one of his children.

“Mamie asked me where cats went to when they died. ‘They don’t go anywhere,’ I said; ‘when they die, that’s the end of them.’

“‘Do they turn to dust?’ she asked.

“‘Yes, just turn to dust,’ I said.

“‘Why, then,’ she exclaimed, and her eyes grew as big as saucers, ‘when horses run ’long the streets, are they kicking up cats?’”

All the man said was, “Umph,” and the little wife’s peal of merry laughter was checked, and the ha ha’s grew fainter and spread farther and farther apart, until they died away altogether, and I felt like charging upon that burly, surly demon, and butting him out of the window.

“How would you serve such a man, if you were his wife?” asked Mrs. Purblind.

“Roasted!”