"REALLY, this is comfortable!" said I, glancing around thehandsomely furnished parlour of my young friend Brainard, who had, afew weeks before, ventured upon matrimony, and was now making hisfirst experiments in housekeeping.
"Yes, it is comfortable," replied my friend. "The fact is, I go infor comforts."
"I'm afraid George is a little extravagant," said the smiling bride,as she leaned towards her husband and looked tenderly into his face.
"No, not extravagant, Anna," he returned; "all I want is to havethings comfortable. Comfort I look upon as one of the necessaries oflife, to which all are entitled. Don't you?"
I was looking at a handsome new rose-wood piano when this questionwas addressed to me, and thinking about its probable cost.
"We should all make the best of what we have," I answered, a littleevasively; "and seek to be as comfortable as possible under allcircumstances."
"Exactly. That's my doctrine," said Brainard. "I'm not rich, andtherefore don't expect to live in a palace, and have every thingaround me glittering with silver and gold; but, out of the little Ipossess, shall endeavour to obtain the largest available dividend ofcomfort. Ain't I right?"
"Perhaps so."
"You speak coldly," said my friend. "Don't you agree with me? Shouldnot every man try to be as comfortable as his means will permit?"
"Yes, certainly."
"Of course he should. Some men set a value upon money above everything else, and sacrifice all comfort to its accumulation; but Idon't belong to that class. Money is a good gift, because it is themeans of procuring natural blessings. I receive it thankfully, anduse it wisely. You see how I am beginning life."
"I do."
"Well, what do you think of it?"
By this time my observation of things had become more particular,and I saw many evidences of expenditures that indicated a lavishspirit.
"What rent do you pay?" I asked.
"Three hundred."
I shook my head.
"Too much?" said Brainard.
"I think so."
"Perhaps it is a little high. But you can't get a genteel,comfortable house, in a good neighbourhood, for any thing less."
As it was my first visit to the young couple, who were but a fewweeks past their honey-moon, I did not feel like questioning thepropriety of my friend's conduct to the serious extent he was aboutinvolving himself; and so evaded replying to this excuse for takingat least a hundred dollars more rent upon himself than he wasjustified in doing by his circumstances, he being simply a clerk,with a salary of one thousand dollars.
"Rents are high," was my apparently indifferent answer.
"Too high," said he. "A man who wants a pleasant house has to payfor it. This is my experience."
The subject of conversation changed; I passed an agreeable evening;at the close of which I left my friend and his lovely young bride intheir comfortable home.
What I had seen and heard during the few hours spent with Brainardmade me fear that he was about committing a too common error. Hisideas of comfort were not in keeping with his circumstances. Somedays subsequently I saw my friend and his wife riding out in ahandsome vehicle, drawn by a gay horse.
"Taking their comfort," said I, as I paused and looked upon thehappy young couple.
Not long after, I saw them dashing off again to enjoy an afternoon'sride. Next, I met them at a fashionable concert.
"Have you been to the opera yet?" asked Brainard, leaning forward tothe seat that I occupied just in front of him.
"No," was my answer.
"Then there is a treat in store for you. We go twice, and sometimesoftener, every week. Truffi, Benedetti, Rosi--oh! they areenchanting."
"Rather expensive," said I.
"It does cost something," and Brainard shrugged his shoulders. "ButI think it's money well spent. You know that I go in for thecomforts of life."
And he leaned back, while I thought I perceived a slight shadow flitacross his face. A singer came forward at the moment, and no morewas said.
"It is possible," thought I, "in seeking after comfort, to get intothe wrong road. I am afraid my young friends are about committingthis error."
I not only suggested as much to Brainard soon afterwards, butactually presented a serious remonstrance against the course of lifehe had adopted. But he only smiled at the fears I expressed, andsaid he understood perfectly the nature of the ground he wastreading. Thus it is with most young persons. Be their views true orfalse, they act upon them, in spite of all counsel from the moreexperienced, and in the end reap their harvest of trouble orpleasure, as the ease may be. Pride, which stimulates the desire tomake a certain appearance in the world, is generally more at faultthan a wish to secure the comforts of which my friend talked somuch.
I had another acquaintance, by the name of Tyler, who was marriedabout the same time with Brainard. His tastes were as wellcultivated as those of the former, and his income was as large; yet,in beginning the world, he had shown more prudence and a wiseforecast. I found him in a small, neat house, at a rent of onehundred and seventy dollars. His furniture was not costly, but ingood taste and keeping with the house and his circumstances. As forreal comfort, as far as I could see, the preponderance was rather inhis favour.
"This is really comfortable," said I, glancing around the room inwhich he received me on the occasion of my first visit.
"We think so," replied my friend, smiling.
"Nothing very elegant, but as good as we can afford, and with thatwe have made up our minds to be content."
"If all the world were as wise, all the world would be happier," Iremarked.
"Perhaps so," returned Tyler. "Brainard tried to get me into a houselike the one he occupies; but I thought it more prudent to cut mygarment according to my cloth. The larger your house, the morecostly your furniture and the higher your regular expenses. Hetalked about having things comfortable, as he called it, andenjoying life as he went along; but it would be poor comfort for meto know that I was five or six hundred dollars in debt, and all thewhile living beyond my income."
"In debt? What do you mean by that?" said I. "It isn't possible thatBrainard has gone in debt for any of his fine furniture?"
"It is very possible."
"To the extent of five or six hundred dollars?"
"Yes. The rose-wood piano he bought for his wife cost four hundreddollars. It was purchased on six months' credit."
"Foolish young man!" said I.
"You may well say that. He thinks a great deal about the comforts oflife; but he is going the wrong way to secure them, in my opinion.His parlour furniture, including the new piano, cost nearly onethousand dollars; mine cost three hundred; and I'm sure I would notexchange comforts with him. It isn't what is around us so much aswhat is within us, that produces pleasure. A contented mind is saidto be a continual feast. If, in seeking to have things comfortable,we create causes of disquietude, we defeat our own ends."
"I wish our friend Brainard could see things in the same light,"said I.
"Nothing but painful experience will open his eyes," remarked Tyler.
And he was correct in this. Brainard continued to take his comfortfor a few months, although there was a gradual sinking in thethermometer of his feelings as the time approached when the notesgiven for a part of his furniture would fall due. The amount ofthese notes was six hundred dollars, but he had not saved fiftytowards meeting the payments. The whole of his income had been usedin taking his comfort.
"Why, Brainard!" said I, in a tone of surprise, on meeting him oneday, nearly six months after his marriage. "What has happened?"
"Happened? Nothing. Why do you ask?" replied the young man.
"You look troubled."
"Do I?" He made an effort to smile.
"Yes, you certainly do. What has gone wrong with you?"
"Oh, nothing." And he tried to assume an air of indifference; but,seeing me look incredulous, he added--
"Nothing particularly wrong. I'm only a little worried about moneymatters. The fact is, I've got two or three notes to pay next week."
"You have?"
"Yes; and what is more, I haven't the means to lift them."
"That is trouble," said I, shaking my head.
"It's trouble for me. Oh, dear! I wish my income were larger. Athousand dollars a year is too little."
"Two persons ought to live on that sum very comfortably," Iremarked.
"We can't, then; and I'm sure we are not extravagant. Ah, me!"
"I spent the evening with our friend Tyler last week," said I. "Hissalary is the same as yours, and he told me that he found it notonly sufficient for all his wants, but that he could lay by a coupleof hundred dollars yearly."
"I couldn't live as he does," said Brainard, a little impatiently.
"Why not?"
"Do you think I would be cooped up in such a pigeon-box of a place?"
"The house he lives in has six rooms, and he has but three infamily--your own number, I presume"--
"I have four," said Brainard, interrupting me.
"Four?"
"Yes. We have a cook and chambermaid."
"Oh! Mrs. Tyler has but one domestic."
"My wife wasn't brought up to be a household drudge," said Brainard,contemptuously.
"Your house has ten rooms in it, I believe?" said I, avoiding areply to his last remark.
"It has."
"But why should you pay rent for ten rooms, when you have use foronly five or six? Is not that a waste of money that might be appliedto a better purpose?"
"Oh, I like a large house," said my friend, tossing his head, andputting on an air of dignity and consequence. "A hundred dollarsdifference in rent is a small matter compared with the increase ofcomfort it brings."
"But the expense doesn't stop with the additional rent," said I.
"Why not?"
"The larger the house, the more expensive the furniture. It cost youa thousand dollars to fit up your handsome parlour?" said I.
"Yes, I presume it did."
"For what amount did you give your notes?"
"For six hundred dollars."
"On account of furniture?"
"Yes."
"Tyler furnished his parlour for three hundred."
There was another gesture of impatience on the part of my youngfriend, as he said--
"And such furnishing!"
"Every thing looks neat and comfortable," I replied.
"It may do for them, but it wouldn't suit us."
"Whatever is accordant with our means should be made to suit us,"said I, seriously. "You are no better off than Tyler."
"Do you think I could content myself in such a place?" he replied.
"Contentment is only found in the external circumstances thatcorrespond to a man's pecuniary ability," was my answer to this."Which, think you, is best contented? Tyler, in a small house,neatly furnished, and with a hundred dollars in his pocket; or you,in your large house, with a debt of six hundred dollars hanging overyou?"
There was an instant change in my friend's countenance. The questionseemed to startle him. He sighed, involuntarily.
"But all this won't lift my notes," said he, after the silence of afew minutes. "Good morning!"
Poor fellow! I felt sorry for him. He had been buying comfort atrather too large a price.
The more Brainard cast about in his mind for the means of liftinghis notes, the more troubled did he become.
"I might borrow," said he to himself; "but how am I to pay back thesum?"
To borrow, however, was better than to let his notes be dishonoured.So Brainard, as the time of payment drew nearer and nearer, made aneffort to get from his friends the amount of money needed.
But the effort was not successful. Some looked surprised when hespoke of having notes to meet; others ventured a little good adviceon the subject of prudence in young men who are beginning the world,and hinted that he was living rather too fast. None were prepared togive him what he wanted.
Troubled, mortified, and humbled, Brainard retired to hiscomfortable home on the evening before the day on which his notegiven for the piano was to fall due. Nearly his last effort to raisemoney had been made, and he saw nothing but discredit, and what hefeared even worse than that before him. Involved as he was in debt,there was no safety from the sharp talons of the law. They mightstrike him at any moment, and involve all in ruin.
Poor Brainard! How little pleasure did the sight of his large andpleasant house give him as it came in view on his return home. Itstood, rather as a monument of extravagance and folly, than theabode of sweet contentment.
"Three hundred dollars rent!" he murmured. "Too much for me to pay."And sighed deeply.
He entered his beautiful parlour, and gazed around upon the elegantfurniture which he had provided as a means of comfort. All had lostits power to communicate pleasure. There stood the costly piano,once coveted and afterwards admired. But it possessed no charm tolay the troubled spirit within him. He had bought it as a marriagepresent for his wife, who had little taste for music, and preferredreading or sewing to the blandishment of sweet sounds. And for thistoy--it was little more in his family--a debt of four hundreddollars had been created. Had it brought him an equivalent incomfort? Far, very far from it.
As Brainard stood in his elegant parlour, with troubled heart andtroubled face, his wife came in with a light step.
"George!" she exclaimed on seeing him, her countenance falling andher voice expressing anxious concern. "What is the matter? Are yousick?"
"Oh, no!" he replied, affecting a lightness of tone.
"But something is the matter, George," said the young wife, as shelaid her hand upon him and looked earnestly into his face."Something troubles you."
"Nothing of any consequence. A mere trifle," returned Brainard,evasively.
"A mere trifle would not cloud your brow as it was clouded a momentsince, George."
"Trifles sometimes affect us, more seriously than graver matters."As Brainard said this, the shadows again deepened on his face.
"If you have any troubles, dear, let me share them, and they will belighter." Anna spoke with much tenderness.
"I hardly think your sharing my present trouble will lighten it,"said Brainard, forcing a smile, "unless, in so doing, you can putsome four hundred dollars into my empty pockets."
Anna withdrew a pace from her husband, and looked at him doubtingly.
"Do you speak in earnest?" said she.
"In very truth I do. To-morrow I have four hundred dollars to pay;but where the money is to come from, is more than I can tell."
"How in the world has that happened?" inquired Mrs. Brainard.
Involuntarily the eyes of her husband wandered towards the piano.She saw their direction. Her own eyes fell to the floor, and shestood silent for some moments--silent, but hurriedly thoughtful.Then looking up, she said, in a hesitating voice--
"We can do without that." And she pointed towards the piano.
"Without what?" asked Brainard, quickly.
"The piano. It cost four hundred dollars. Sell it."
"Never!"
"Why not?"
"Don't mention it, Anna. Sell your piano! It shall never be done."
"But, George"--
"It's no use to talk of that, Anna; I will not listen to it."
And so the wife was silenced.
Little comfort had the young couple that evening in their finelyfurnished house. Brainard was silent and thoughtful, while Anna feltthe pressure of a heavy weight upon her feelings.
How different was it in the smaller and more plainly attireddwelling of Tyler! There was comfort, and there were peace andcontentment, her smiling handmaids.
On the next morning, Brainard found it impossible to conceal fromhis wife the great anxiety he felt. She said very little to him, forhis trouble was of a kind for which she could suggest no remedy.After he parted with her at the door, she returned and sat down inone of the parlours to think. The piano was before her, and back tothat her thoughts at length came. It was not only a beautifulinstrument, but one of great excellence. Often had it been admiredby her friends, and particularly by a lady who had several timesexpressed a wish to own one exactly like it in every respect.
"I wish you would let me have that piano," the lady had said to hernot a week before; and said it as much in earnest as in jest.
"I wonder if she really would buy it?" mused Mrs. Brainard. "I don'twant so fine an instrument. My old piano is a very good one, and isuseless at father's. Oh! if I could only get George the four hundreddollars he wants so badly!"
And she struck her hands together as her thoughts grew earnest onthe subject. For more than an hour the mind of Mrs. Brainard gaveitself up to this one idea. Then she dressed herself and went out.Without consulting any one, she called upon the lady to whomreference has been made.
"Mrs. Aiken," said she, coming at once to the point, "you have oftenremarked that you would like to own that piano of mine. Were youreally in earnest?"
"In earnest? Certainly I was." Mrs. Aiken smiled, at the same timethat a slight expression of surprise came into her face. "It's oneof the finest instruments I ever touched."
"It's for sale," said Mrs. Brainard, in a firm, business-like way."So there is a chance for you to call it your own."
"For sale! Why do you say that, Anna?"
"It's too costly an instrument for me to own. My old piano is a verygood one--quite good enough for all my purposes."
"But this is your husband's wedding-gift, if I remember rightly?"
"I know it is; but the gift was too costly a one for a young manwhose salary is only a thousand dollars a year."
"Then he wishes to sell it."
"No, indeed, not he!"
"And would you sell it without consulting him?" said Mrs. Aiken.
"Such is my intention."
"He might be very much displeased."
"No matter; I would soon smooth his frowning brow. But, Mrs. Aiken,we won't discuss that matter. The instrument is to be sold. Do youwant it?"
"I do."
"Very well. Are you prepared to buy it?"
"Perhaps so. It cost four hundred dollars?"
"Yes."
"What is your price?"
"The same."
"Then you make no deduction?" said Mrs. Aiken, smiling.
"I wouldn't like to do that. It's as good as new. If I can sell it,I want to be able to put in my husband's hands just what he paid forit."
"Oh, then you want the money for your husband?"
"Certainly, I do. What use have I for four hundred dollars?"
"You've come just in time, Anna," said Mrs. Aiken. "I arranged withmy husband to meet him this morning, at his store, to go and look atsome pianos. But if yours is really for sale, we have no occasion totake any further trouble."
"It is for sale, Mrs. Aiken. Understand this."
"Very well. When do you want the money?"
"This morning."
"I don't know about that. However, I will see Mr. Aikenimmediately."
"Shall I wait here for you?"
"You may do so, or I will call at your house."
"Do that, if you please."
"Very well. In an hour, at most, I will see you."
The two ladies then parted.
When Mr. Brainard left his house that morning, he felt wretched.Where--how was he to get four hundred dollars? To go to the partyfrom whom he had bought the piano, and confess that he was not ableto pay for it, had in it something so humiliating, that he could notbear the thought for a moment. But if the note was not paid,--whatthen? Might not the instrument be demanded? And how could he give itup now? Or, worse, might it not be seized under execution?
"Oh, that I had never bought it!" he at length exclaimed, mentally,in the bitterness of his feelings. And then he half chid himself forthe extorted declaration.
Nearly the whole of the morning was spent in the vain attempt toborrow the needed sum. But there was no one to lend him four hundreddollars. At length, in his desperation, he forced himself to applyfor a quarter's advance of salary.
"No doubt," said he, within himself, "that the holder of the notewill take two hundred and fifty dollars on account, and give me timeon the balance."
About the ways and means of living for the next three months, afterabsorbing his salary in advance, he did not pause to think. He wasjust in that state of mind in which he could say, with feeling,"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." Unhappily, his effortto raise money by this expedient failed. His application wasreceived coldly, and in a way to mortify him exceedingly.
Half desperate, and half despairing, Brainard started for his homeabout one o'clock, his usual hour for dining. What was he to do? Heturned his thoughts to the right and to the left, groping about likea man in the dark. But no light broke in upon his mental vision.
"It will not do to meet Anna in this way," said he, as he approachedhis own door. "I left her with a troubled countenance in themorning. Now I must force an assumed cheerfulness."
He entered, and was moving along the passage, when Anna came outthrough one of the parlour doors to meet him, and drawing her armthrough his, said, in a lively tone,--
"Come, George, I want to play for you a favourite piece. I've beenpractising it for the last hour."
And she drew him into the parlour, and, taking her seat at thepiano, commenced running her fingers over the keys. Brainard stoodand listened to the music until the piece was finished, trying, butin vain, to feel an interest in the performance.
"How do you like that?" said the wife, with animation, lifting hersparkling eyes to the face of her husband, which was serious, inspite of all he could do to give it a better expression.
"Beautifully performed," replied Brainard.
"And do you really think so?" said Anna, as she arose and leaning onhis arm again, drew him into the next room.
"Certainly, I do."
"Didn't you think the instrument a little out of tune?" asked Anna.
"No; it struck me as being in better tune than when you played lastevening."
"It's a fine instrument, certainly. I prize it very much."
Brainard sighed faintly.
"Oh! How about your four hundred dollars?" said Anna, as if thethought had just occurred to her. "Did you get the money?"
A change was apparent in the manner of Brainard.
"No, Anna," he replied, with assumed calmness.
"Do you want it badly?"
"Yes, dear. I have four hundred dollars due in the bank to-day, andevery effort to obtain the sum has failed."
"What if I lend it to you?" said the young wife, looking archly intohis troubled face.
"You!" he exclaimed, quickly.
"Yes, me. Would you take it as a very great favour?"
"The greatest you could do me just at this time!"
"Very well; here is the money."
And Anna drew a purse of gold from her pocket, and held it beforehis eyes.
"Anna! What does this mean?"
And Brainard reached his hand to grasp the welcome treasure. But shedrew it away quickly, saying, as she did so,--
"Certain conditions must go with the loan."
"Name them," was promptly answered by the husband, into whose facethe sunshine had already come back.
"One is, that you are not to be angry with me for any thing that Ihave done to-day."
"What have you done?"
And Brainard glanced around the room with an awakened suspicion.
"I want your promise first."
"You have it."
"But mind you, I am in earnest," said Anna.
"So am I. Now make your confession."
"I sold the piano."
"What?"
There was an instant change in the expression of Brainard's face.
"Your promise. Remember," said Anna, in a warning voice.
"Sold the piano!"
And he walked into the next room, Anna moving by his side.
"Yes, I sold it to Mrs. Aiken for four hundred dollars. I had my oldinstrument brought over from father's. This is as good a piano as Iwant, or you either, I should think, seeing that you perceived nodifference in its tones from the one I parted with. Now, take thispurse, and if you don't call me the right sort of a wife you are avery strange man--that is all I have to say."
Surprise kept Brainard silent for some moments. He looked at thepiano, then at his wife, and then at the purse of gold, halfdoubting whether all were real, or only a pleasant dream.
"You are the right sort of a wife, Anna, and no mistake," said he,at length, drawing his arm around her neck and kissing her. "Youhave done what I had not the courage to do, and, in the act, savedme from a world of trouble. The truth is, I never should have boughtthat piano. A clerk, with a salary of only a thousand dollars, isnot justified in expending four hundred dollars for a piano."
"Nor in having so much costly furniture," said Anna, glancing roundthe room.
Brainard sighed, for the thought of two hundred dollars yet to payflitted through his mind.
"Nor in paying three hundred dollars for rent," added Anna.
"Why do you say that?" asked Brainard.
"Because it's the truth. The fact is, George, I'm afraid we're inthe wrong road for comfort."
"Perhaps we are," was the young man's constrained admission.
"Then the quicker we get into the right way the better. Don't youthink so?"
"If we, are wrong, we should try to get right," said Brainard.
"It was wrong to buy that piano. This is your own admission."
"Well?"
"We are right again in that respect."
"Yes, thanks to my dear wife's good resolution and prompt action."
"It was wrong to take so costly a house," said Anna.
"I couldn't find a cheaper one that was genteel and comfortable."
"I'm sure I wouldn't ask any thing more genteel and comfortable thanMrs. Tyler's house."
"That pigeon-box!"
Brainard spoke in, a tone of contempt.
"Why, George, how you talk! It's a perfect gem of a house, wellbuilt and well finished in every part, and big enough for a familytwice as large as ours. I think it far more comfortable than thisgreat barn of a place, and would a thousand times rather live in it.And then it is cheaper by a hundred and twenty dollars a year."
A hundred and twenty dollars! What a large sum of money. Ah, if hehad a hundred and twenty dollars in addition to the four hundredreceived from Anna, how happy he would be! These were the thoughtsthat were flitting through the mind of Brainard at the mention ofthe amount that could be saved by taking a smaller house.
"Well, Anna, perhaps you are right. Oh, dear!"
"Why do you sigh so heavily, George?" asked Mrs. Brainard, lookingat her husband with some surprise.
"Because I can't help it," was frankly answered.
"You've got the money you needed?"
"Not all."
"Why, George! Didn't you say that you had only four hundred dollarsto pay?"
"I didn't say only."
"How much more?"
"The fact is, Anna, I have two hundred dollars yet to meet."
"To-day?"
Anna's face became troubled.
"No, not until the day after to-morrow."
The young wife's countenance lighted up again.
"Is that all?"
"Yes, thank Heaven, that is all. But how the payment is to be made,is more than I can tell."
Dinner was now announced.
"I shall have to turn financier again," said Anna, smiling, as shedrew her arm within that of her husband, and led him away to thedining-room.
"I'm a little afraid of your financiering," returned her husband,shaking his head. "You might sell me next as a useless piece offurniture."
"Now, George, that is too bad," replied Anna, looking hurt.
"I only jested, dear," said Brainard, repairing the little wrongdone to her feelings with a kiss. "Your past efforts at financieringwere admirable, and I only hope your next attempt may be assuccessful."
Two days more passed, during which time neither Brainard nor hiswife said any thing to each other about money, although the thoughtsof both were busy for most of the time on that interesting subject.Silently sat Brainard at the breakfast-table on the morning of theday when his last note fell due. How was he to meet the payment? Twohundred dollars! He had not so much as fifty dollars in hispossession, and as to borrowing, that was a vain hope. Must he go tothe holder of the note, and ask a renewal? He shrunk from thethought, murmuring to himself--"Any thing but that."
As for getting the required sum through Anna, he did not permithimself to hope very strongly. She had looked thoughtful since theirlast interview on the subject, and at times, it seemed to him,troubled. It was plain that she had been disappointed in any effortsto get money that she might have made.
"That she, too, should be subject to mortification and painfulhumiliation!" said he, as his mind dwelt on the subject. "It is toobad--too bad!--Oh, to think that my folly should have had thisreaction!"
Anna looked sober as Brainard parted with her after breakfast, andhe thought he saw tears in her eyes. As soon as he was gone shedressed herself, and taking from a handsome jewel-box the present ofher husband, a gold watch and chain, a bracelet, diamond pin, andsome other articles of the same kind, left the house.
Two hours afterward, as Brainard sat at his desk trying to fix hismind upon the accounts before him, a note was handed in bearing hisaddress. He broke the seal, and found that it enclosed one hundredand seventy dollars, with these few words from Anna:
"This is the best I can do for you, dear husband. Will it beenough?"
"God bless her!" came half audibly from the lips of Brainard, as hedrew forth his pocket-book, in which were thirty dollars. "Yes, itwill be enough."
"There is no comfort in owing, or in paying after this fashion,"said the young man to himself, as he walked homeward at dinner-time,with his last note in his pocket. "There will have to be a change."
And there was a change. When next I visited my young friend, I foundhim in a smaller house, looking as comfortable and happy as I couldhave wished to see him. We talked pleasantly about the errors of thepast, and the trouble which had followed as a natural result.
"There is one thing," said Brainard, during the conversation,glancing at his wife as he spoke, "that I have not been able to makeout."
"What is that?" asked Mrs. Brainard, smiling.
"Where the last one hundred and seventy dollars you gave me camefrom."
"Have you missed nothing?" said she, archly.
"Nothing," was his reply.
"Been deprived of no comfort?"
"So far from it, I have found a great many new ones."
"And been saved the trouble of winding up and regulating that prettyeight-day clock for which you gave forty dollars."
Brainard fairly started to his feet as he turned to the mantel, and,strange to say, missed, for the first time, the handsome timepiecereferred to by his wife.
"Why, Anna, is it possible? Surely that hasn't been gone for twomonths!"
"Oh, yes, it has."
"Well, that beats all."
And Brainard resumed his chair.
"You've been just as comfortable," said the excellent young woman.
"But you didn't get a hundred and seventy dollars for thetimepiece?"
"No. Have you lost no other comfort? Think."
Brainard thought, but in vain. Anna glided from the room, andreturned in a few moments with her jewel-box.
"Do you miss any thing?" said she, as she raised the lid and placedthe box in his hands.
"Your watch and chain!"
Anna smiled.
"You did not sell them?"
"Yes."
"Why, Anna! Did you set no value on your husband's gifts?"
There was a slight rebuke in the tone of Brainard. Tears sprang toAnna's eyes, as she answered--"I valued them less than hishappiness."
Brainard looked at her for a few moments with an expression of deeptenderness. Then turning to me, he said, in a voice that wasunsteady from emotion--"You shall be my judge. Has she done wrong orright?"
"Right!" I responded, warmly. "Right! thank Heaven, my friend, forgiving you a true woman for a wife. There is some hope now of yourfinding the comfort you sought so vainly in the beginning."
And he has found it--found it in a wise appropriation, of the goodgifts of Providence according to his means.
THE END.
* * * * * * * * * * * *