dinners and other costly excesses while at the state capital, and his fellow legislators considered him a good fellow, although rather lax in “keeping his end up.”  Moreover, he employed a good tailor and was careful to keep up an appearance of sound financial standing.  But his home, which he avoided as much as possible, had little share in his personal prosperity.  Mary Hopkins’s requests for new and decent gowns were more often refused than acceded to, and he constantly cautioned her to keep down expenses or she would drive them both to the poor-house.

The woman well knew that Erastus could afford to keep her in luxury, if he would, but some women are so constituted that they accept their fate rather than rebel, and Mary Hopkins lived the life of a slave, contenting herself with petty scoldings and bickerings that did nothing to relieve her hard lot.

She had little interest in politics and resented the intrusion of the many who came to the house to see and consult with her husband during the tiresome political campaigns.  On these occasions Mr. Hopkins used the sitting-room as his office and committee headquarters, but this did not materially interfere with his wife’s comfort, as she was usually busy in the kitchen.

On this Saturday evening, however, they had an early supper and she finished her dishes betimes and sat down to darn stockings in the sitting-room.  Erastus had hurried away to a meeting of his henchmen in the town, and would not be home until after his wife was in bed.

So she was rather surprised when a timid knock sounded upon the door.  She opened it to find a little, lean man standing upon the porch.

“Mrs. Hopkins?” he asked, quietly.

“Yes.  What do you want?”

“Your husband asked me to come here and wait for him.  It’s important or I wouldn’t disturb you.”

“Well, then; come in,” she replied, tartly.  “Thank the Lord this thing is nearly over, and we’ll have a few weeks of peace.”

“It is rather imposing on you,” remarked the man, following her to the sitting-room, where he sat down with his hat in his hands.  “A political campaign is trying to everybody.  I’m tired out and sick of the whole thing myself.”

“Then why don’t you chuck it,” she retorted, scornfully, “and go to work makin’ an honest living?”

“Oh, this is honest enough,” he said, mildly.

“I don’t believe it.  All them secret confabs an’ trickery to win votes can’t be on the square.  Don’t talk to me!  Politics is another name for rascality!”

“Perhaps you’re right, ma’am; perhaps you’re right,” he said, with a sigh.

She looked at him sharply.

“You don’t belong in Elmwood.”

“No, ma’am; I’m from beyond Fairview.  I’ve come to see your husband on business.”

She sniffed, at that, but picked up her darning and relapsed into silence.  The little man was patient.  He sat quietly in his chair and watched her work.