beginning to end with pigs.

What pleased me most was to see how my wife enjoyed our little
outing. Wrapped up in the children, she reflected their joy in her
face, and looked almost girlish in her happiness. I whispered in her
ear, "Your present shall be the home itself, for I shall have the
deed made out in your name, and then you can turn me out-of-doors as
often as you please."

"Which will be every pleasant day after breakfast," she said,
laughing. "You know you are very safe in giving things to me."

"Yes, Winifred," I replied, pressing her hand on the sly; "I have
been finding that out ever since I gave myself to you."

I bought Henderson's "Gardening for Profit" and some other practical
books. I also subscribed for a journal devoted to rural interests
and giving simple directions for the work of each month. At last we
returned. Never did a jollier little procession march up Broadway.
People were going to the opera and evening companies, and carriages
rolled by, filled with elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen; but
my wife remarked, "None of those people are so happy as we are,
trudging in this roundabout way to our country home."

Her words suggested our course of action during the months which
must intervene before it would be safe or wise for us to leave the
city. Our thoughts, words, and actions were all a roundabout means
to our cherished end, and yet the most direct way that we could take
under the circumstances. Field and garden were covered with snow,
the ground was granite-like from frost, and winter's cold breath