reflected their shining, soapy faces, and Mamie's best chip Sunday
hat; an old sewing-machine, that had been worn out in active
service; old patchwork quilts; an old accordion, to whose long
drawn inspirations Mamie had sung hymns; old pictures, books, and
old toys. There were one or two old chromos, and, stuck in an old
frame, a colored print from the "Illustrated London News" of a
Christmas gathering in an old English country house. He stopped
and picked up this print, which he had often seen before, gazing at
it with a new and singular interest. He wondered if Mamie had seen
anything of this kind in England, and why couldn't he have had
something like it here, in their own fine house, with themselves
and a few friends? He remembered a past Christmas, when he had
bought Mamie that now headless doll with the few coins that were
left him after buying their frugal Christmas dinner. There was an
old spotted hobby-horse that another Christmas had brought to
Abner--Abner, who would be driving a fast trotter to-morrow at the
Springs! How everything had changed! How they all had got up in
the world, and how far beyond this kind of thing--and yet--yet it
would have been rather comfortable to have all been together again
here. Would THEY have been more comfortable? No! Yet then he
might have had something to do, and been less lonely to-morrow.
What of that? He HAD something to do: to look after this immense
fortune. What more could a man want, or should he want? It was
rather mean in him, able to give his wife and children everything
they wanted, to be wanting anything more. He laid down the print
gently, after dusting its glass and frame with his silk
handkerchief, and slowly left the room.

The drum-beat of the rain followed him down the staircase, but he
shut it out with his other thoughts, when he again closed the door