"Mr. Morton," she said, frowning and laughing at the same time, "I'm not going to be argued out of self-consciousness. If we don't know what we know, we don't know anything. I insist upon it that I am utterly matter-of-fact in my opinions on this question. State the subject briefly in prose. Does a family exist for the sake of a home, or a home for the sake of a family? I know of many instances in which the former of these suppositions is true. The father toils and wears himself out, often gambles--speculating, some call it--and not unfrequently cheats and steals outright in order to keep up his establishment. The mother works and worries, smooths her wrinkled brow to curious visitors, burdens her soul with innumerable deceits, and enslaves herself that her house and its belongings may be as good or a little better than her neighbor's. The children soon catch the same spirit, and their souls become absorbed in wearing apparel. They are complacently ignorant concerning topics of general interest and essential culture, but would be mortified to death if suspected of being a little off on 'good form' and society's latest whims in mode. It is a dreary thraldom to mere things in which the soul becomes as material, narrow, and hard as the objects which absorb it. There is no time for that which gives ideality and breadth." "Do you realize that your philosophy would stop half the industries of the world? Do you not believe in large and sumptuously furnished houses?" "Yes, for those who have large incomes. One may live in a palace, and yet not be a slave to the palace. Our home should be as beautiful as our taste and means can make it; but, like the nest yonder, it should simply serve its purpose, leaving us the time and means to get all the good out of the world at large that we can." A sudden cloud of sadness overcast her face as she continued, after a moment, half in soliloquy: "The robins will soon take wing and leave the nest; so must we. How many have gone already!" "But the robins follow the sun in their flight," I said gently, "and thus they find skies more genial than those they left." She gave me a quick, appreciative smile as she said: "That's a pleasant thought." "Your home must be an ideal one," I remarked unthinkingly. She colored slightly, and laughed as she answered: "I'm something like a snail; I carry my home, if not my house, around with me. A music-teacher can afford neither a palace nor a cottage." I looked at her with eager eyes as I said, "Pardon me if I am unduly frank; but on this day I'm inclined to follow every impulse, and say just what I think, regardless of the consequences. You make upon me a decided impression of what we men call comradeship. I feel as if I had known you weeks and months instead of hours. Could we not have been robins ourselves in some previous state of existence, and have flown on a journey together?" "Mrs. Yocomb had better take you in hand, and teach you sobriety."