admiringly. "And my dear, good husband there--he's such a good
husband--says I'm a very expensive wife. Always buys me what I want,
though." Here she raised her waxy, fat hand, and dropped a bow of
approval to the little husband, who was quietly surveying the scene from
Hanz's big chair. "My husband is so intellectual, and does so much for
other people. He's always doing for other people. But he's a treasure to
me, for all that--"

"My dear, my dear," interrupted Chapman; "what a kind way you have of
paying compliments. Mrs. Toodleburg will not understand you, my dear.
What more than any one else have I done for other people?"

"You have been a perfect Christian, my dear, so you have," resumed Mrs.
Chapman, giving her head a toss and pressing the fore-finger of her
right hand on the arm of the chair. "Why, Mrs. Toodlebug--pardon me; I
never did pronounce names correct." She turned condescendingly to
Angeline. "You must know that my dear husband created a whole town once.
Then he built a great and flourishing church, founded on advanced moral
ideas. And he intended to have sold it for the good of others, and would
have sold it, but for an unforeseen circumstance."

"A very unforeseen circumstance, my dear," rejoined Chapman, shaking his
head admonishingly. "You see, I have got one of the very best wives in
the world. She has a philosophy of her own, and we agree in everything."

"Shust like me and mine vife," said Hanz. "We agrees in everything.
Lived dese forty nor more years togeder, mitout a quarrel." Hanz had
been sitting where a pale shadow of the dim light played over his broad,
kindly face, and, with his long, white hair curling down his neck, gave
a clearer outline to the picture.