"Hens--in three rooms, Nancy?"

Her face fell. "And no yard?"

"No yard."

A moment's pause, and then the smile came. "Oh, well, I've had yards and
hens for thirty-five years. Doing without them will be a change. I can
take in sewing."

"No, you can't, Nancy. I need your backbone and wits and pluck and
ingenuity, but if I can't ask you to sit with your hands folded for the
rest of your life, as I'd like to, you shan't use them for other people.
You're marrying me to make a man of me, but I'm not marrying you to make
you a drudge."

His voice rang clear and true in the silence, and Nancy's heart vibrated
at the sound.

"Oh, Justin, Justin!" she whispered. "There's something wrong somewhere,
but we'll find it out together, you and I, and make it right. You're not
like a failure. You don't even _look_ poor, Justin; there isn't a man in
Edgewood to compare with you, or I should be washing his dishes and
darning his stockings this minute. And I am not a pauper! There'll be
the rent of my little house and a carload of my furniture, so you can put
the three-room idea out of your mind, and your firm will offer you a
larger salary when you tell them you have a wife to take care of. Oh, I
see it all, and it is as easy and bright and happy as can be!"

Justin put his arm around her and drew her close, with such a throb of