"rolls" from sight. "Siegfried's Funeral March" was unintelligible to
him; the tawdry, meretricious Italian overtures filled him with disgust.
In the end the two confined themselves to patriotic airs and old-time
domestic ditties. Medora accompanied on her second-best violin (which was
kept at the farm) and Abner enjoyed a heart-warming sense of doing his
full share in "Tenting Tonight" or "Lily Dale." The girl's parents had
advanced far beyond this stage, but willingly relapsed into it now and
then for Auld Lang Syne.

The final roll wound up with a quick snap.

"Well, you haven't told me what you thought of that last chapter," said
Abner, putting the roll back in its box. He made no demand on Medora's
interest to the exclusion of that of the others, however. His general
glance around invited comment from any quarter. He had merely looked at
her first.

"M--no," said Medora.

The girl, a few weeks before, had looked over _The Rod of the Oppressor_.
_The Rod's_ force had made itself felt most largely on economics; but in
its blossoming it had put forth a few secondary sprigs, and one of these
curled over in the direction of domestic life, of marital relation.
Abner's chivalry--a chivalry totally guiltless of gallantry--had gone out
to the suffering wife doomed to a lifelong yoking with a cruel,
coarse-natured husband: must such a yoking _be_ lifelong? he asked
earnestly. Was it not right and just and reasonable that she should fly
(with or without companion)--nor be too particular over the formalities
of her departure? Medora had smiled and shaken her head; but now the
question somehow seemed less remote than before. She paused over this