the season, and the fields around it seem alive with golden grain that
waves in the wind. Everything about the place tells of long-continued
prosperity. The rich old squire who lives there rides about with fine
horses, and talks a great deal to his neighbors about "my house, my
orchards, and my horses."

His wife is evidently the lady of the region. She was a model
housekeeper and dairywoman in the days when they worked the farm, and
is now an oracle on many questions. She, too, talks of "my house, my
horses, and my estate."

These persons each brought property to the other, and the two
interests have, unfortunately, never flowed together and formed one
estate as they should have done; so there are always two separate
interests in the house.

Of course the property belongs, legally, to both; but as each has a
snug little fund laid away, the question is always to be settled, if
repairs are to be made, or horses or furniture bought, who shall pay
for it.

It seems but proper to the husband that carpets, and sofas, etc.,
shall be bought by his wife; also the cows, as the lady is at the head
of the house. But she says, "You walk on the carpets, sit on the
sofas, and eat the cream and butter just as much as I do, and I see no
reason why you should not, at least, help to pay for them."

Such discussions often occur, but, on the whole, each upholds the
interest of the other against outsiders, and gets along without open
rupture. They ride about in better dress than their neighbors, they