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Waiting to steal a step on us whenever
We drop our eyes or turn to other things,
As in the game 'Ten-step' the children play."

"Good boys they seemed, and let them love the city. All they could say was 'God!' when you proposed Their coming out and making useful farmers."

"Did they make something lonesome go through you?
It would take more than them to sicken you-
Us of our bargain. But they left us so
As to our fate, like fools past reasoning with.
They almost shook me."

"It's all so much
What we have always wanted, I confess
Its seeming bad for a moment makes it seem
Even worse still, and so on down, down, down.
It 's nothing; it 's their leaving us at dusk.

I never bore it well when people went.
The first night after guests have gone, the house
Seems haunted or exposed. I always take
A personal interest in the locking up

At bedtime; but the strangeness soon wears off."

He fetched a dingy lantern from behind

A door. "There's that we did n't lose! And these!" Some matches he unpocketed. "For food

The meals we 've had no one can take from us.

I wish that everything on earth were just

As certain as the meals we 've had. I wish

The meals we have n't had were, anyway.

What have you you know where to lay your hands on?"

"The bread we bought in passing at the store. There 's butter somewhere, too."

"Let 's rend the bread.

I 'll light the fire for company for you;
You 'll not have any other company
Till Ed begins to get out on a Sunday
To look us over and give us his idea

Of what wants pruning, shingling, breaking up.
He 'll know what he would do if he were we,

And all at once. He 'll plan for us and plan
To help us, but he 'll take it out in planning.
Well, you can set the table with the loaf.

Let's see you find your loaf. I'll light the fire.

I like chairs occupying other chairs

Not offering a lady-"

"There again, Joe!

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"My dear,

It 's who first thought the thought. You're searching, Joe,
For things that don't exist; I mean beginnings.
Ends and beginnings-there are no such things.
There are only middles."

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To drag you out for just a good-night call
On the old peach-trees on the knoll to grope
By starlight in the grass for a last peach
The neighbors may not have taken as their right
When the house was n't lived in? I've been looking:
I doubt if they have left us many grapes.
Before we set ourselves to right the house,
The first thing in the morning, out we go
And go the round of apple, cherry, peach,
Pine, alder, pasture, mowing, well, and brook.
All of a farm it is."

"I know this much:
I 'm going to put you in your bed, if first
I have to make you build it. Come, the light."

When there was no more lantern in the kitchen,
Out got the fire through crannies in the stove
And danced in yellow wrigglers on the ceiling,
As much at home as if they 'd always danced there.

..

A

By STACY AUMONIER

Author of "The Friends," etc.

FTER breakfast was a good time. Throughout the day there was no moment when his vitality rose to such heights as it did during the first puffs of that early cigar. He would stroll out then into the conservatory, and the bright color of the azaleas would produce in him a strange excitement. His senses would seem sharpened, and he would move quickly between the flowers, and would discuss minor details of their culture with Benyon, the gardener. Then he would stroll through the great spaces of his receptionrooms with his head bent forward. The huge Ming pot on its ebony stand would seem to him companionable and splendid, the Majolica placques which he had bought at Padua would glow serenely. He would go up and feast his eyes on the Chinese lacquer cabinet on its finely wrought gilt base, and his lips would quiver with a tense enjoyment as he lingered by the little carved Japanese ivories in the recess. Above all, he liked to stand near the wall and gaze at the Vandyke above the fireplace. It looked well in the early morning light, dignified and impressive.

All these things were his. He had fought for them in the arena of the commercial world. He had bought them in the teeth of opposition. And they expressed him, his sense of taste, his courage, his power, his relentless tenacity, the qual ities that had raised him above his fellows to the position he held. The contemplation of them produced in him a curious; vibrant exhilaration. Especially was this so in the morning when he rose from the breakfast-table and lighted his first cigar.

The great hall, too, satisfied his quivering senses. The walnut paneling shone serenely, and brass and pewter bore evidence that the silent staff whom his housekeeper controlled had done their work efficiently. It was early, barely nine

o'clock, but he knew that in the library Crevace and Dilgerson, his private secretaries, would be fidgeting with papers and expecting him. He would keep them waiting another ten minutes while he gratified this clamorous proprietary sense. He would linger in the drawing-room, with its long, gray panels and splendid damask hangings, and touch caressingly the little groups of statuary. The unpolished satinwood furniture appealed to some special esthetic appetite. It was an idea of his own. It seemed at once graceful and distinguished.

He seemed to have so little time during the rest of the day to feel these things. And if he had the time, the satisfaction did not seem the same, for this was the hour when he felt most virile.

In the library the exultation that he had derived from these esthetic pleasures would gradually diminish. It is true that Dilgerson had prepared the rough draft of his amendment to the new Peasant Allotment Bill, and it was an amendment that he was intensely interested in, for if it passed, it might lead to the overthrow of Chattisworth, and that would be a very desirable thing; but nevertheless his interests would flag.

He had a fleeting vision of a great triumph in the House, and himself the central figure. He settled down to discuss the details with Dilgerson. Dilgerson was a very remarkable person. He had a genius for putting his finger on the vital spot of a bill, and he had, moreover, an unfathomable memory. But gradually the discussion of involved financial details with Dilgerson would tire him. He would get restless and say:

"Yes, yes. All right, Dilgerson; put it your own way."

He turned aside to the table where Crevace, coughing nervously, was preparing some sixty-odd letters for him to sign. A

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