I turned from the great vault above me, and looked out upon the restive waters, and as I turned I saw a shadowy Mrs. Purblind sitting beside me on the beach, and questioning with sad eyes and heart, the stars that bent to listen. “I have tried,” she said; her face, usually so thoughtless, tear-stained, and quivering. “Yes, I know you have tried,” I answered; “I have seen that!” “But he is just the same.” “Yes, and will be for a long time, and you will have to go on trying for years, if you want to carry him back to the old days,” I said. “That’s one of the hardest things in all the world!” she cried passionately, “if we stop doing right—the right stops with us, but if we stop doing wrong and begin to do right, the wrong goes on.” “Not for always,” I said, looking up to the stars. “Oh, for so long!” The great dome rich with gems, and deep with peace, bent over her, and by and by her sobs ceased. “You are trying, I know,” I reiterated, “but you don’t understand—you can’t, for you have only a woman’s nature.” “What should I have, pray?” “A woman’s, and a man’s, and a child’s, to be a perfect wife and mother; that is, you must be able to comprehend them all. Your husband came home cross to-night.” “Yes, irritable toward us all, and I so hoped to have everything pleasant this evening.” “He, too, had his hopes to-day, and they were flung to the ground, and broken before his eyes.” “What do you mean?” “The special agent of a company that he has for a year been working to get, has been in town.” “Yes, I know.” “Yesterday this agent led him to suppose he was to be the favored one. All to-day he has been working toward that end, and near night he heard that this man had gone, without even saying good-by. You remember that Mr. Purblind left home in a hurry this morning, with scarcely a bite of breakfast; he took very little luncheon, and——” “Well, we had dinner at the usual time, if he’d said he was hungry, I’d have hurried it.” “He was not hungry—he was much more than that. Did you ever see a vessel whose fuel is well-nigh exhausted drag herself into port? What is the first thing to be done?” “I don’t know—replenish her?” “Yes, put coal on board. Now when I saw your husband walk up to his front door, I said to myself, he needs coaling. A good home should be a good coaling station; remember that.” “But what of me?” she asked with some impatience, “I, too, have my worries and exertions—do I never need coaling?” “Frequently,” I answered. “Well, who is to coal me, I should like to know?” “Yourself.” “That’s rather one-sided, I think. Why shouldn’t my husband look to that?” “My dear,” I said earnestly, “I never knew but one man who saw when his wife needed coaling, and attended to her wants. When he died (for the gods loved him), it was found that his shoulder-blades were abnormally large—at least so the doctors said, but I knew all the time that his wings had budded.”