direct purpose. Do you write at all?"

"Not yet. But I have wished to. Some day I shall. Just now I have too
many domestic concerns to--"

She did not finish, for Babcock's heavy tread and whistle resounded in
the hall and at the next moment he was calling "Selma!"

She felt annoyed at being interrupted, but she divined that it would
never do to show it.

"My husband," she said, and she raised her voice to utter with a sugared
dignity which would have done credit to Mrs. Taylor,

"I am in the parlor, Lewis."

"Enter your chief domestic concern," said Littleton blithely. "A happy
home is preferable to all the poems and novels in the world."

Babcock, pushing open the door, which stood ajar, stopped short in his
melody.

"This is Mr. Littleton, Lewis. The architect of our new church."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." And by way of accounting for the
sudden softening of his brow, Babcock added, "I set you down at first as
one of those lightning-rod agents. There was one here last week who
wouldn't take 'no' for an answer."

"He has an advantage over me," answered Littleton with a laugh. "In my