“What’s the matter with the clothes I have on?” Mr. Harlow looked down at himself with satisfaction. “Just the things to work in, good and easy. I’ll go on now, and you can think what else you want done, and tell me when I come back.” He stopped to take the letters from the grey-clad postman, who had just come up with the one mail of a holiday. “Here’s one for me from Tom. I’ll read it as I go along. Good-bye!” Mr. Harlow, who had put on his hat, took it off in courtesy to his wife, as he looked back and smiled a last affectionate farewell to her from the other side of the gate. Her eyes watched his large form, with its firm stride, until it disappeared round the corner. She loved his little politenesses of manner to her. The wind touched the purple clusters of wistaria above her head, and shook out a sweet perfume from them. The grass around the house was close cut and velvety, but next door the lawn-mower was click-clicking busily, and the sky was as blue as a summer sky. Mrs. Harlow, slender and trim in a freshly washed lilac cambric gown that matched the wistaria, sat on the piazza opening her letters with the true holiday feeling of the suburbanite. Nothing whatever of interest presented itself for her amusement, but the mere fact that her husband was at home for the day seemed to breathe a pleasant sense of confusion and excitement that disqualified her for any connected occupation, in spite of the big pile of sewing up-stairs. “Any letters, mother?” Betty, the daughter of the house, who had come out in a white shirt-waist and a straw hat decked with last year’s blue corn-flowers, perched herself on the end of the piazza. “I’m going to the train to meet Sylvia, but it isn’t time yet. I’m so glad she’ll be here! I haven’t seen her for weeks.” “There’s a letter from your Aunt Kitty,” said the mother. “She says your Uncle Tom is going to retire from business. They want to take Lutie abroad for change of air. She must be nearly eight years old now. She’s been so well lately they’re afraid of a reaction. I can’t quite make out where they’re going first; it looks like Himalaya. Oh, I see! It’s Edinburgh.” “It might as well be Himalaya. Lutie’s never had anything but changes of air since she was born,” said Betty, crossly. “How some people do travel! They seem to have money for everything, while we—well, things can’t go on like this much longer! I’m going to work and earn something just as soon as I can now. And Jack says he wants to leave school and go in an office like Herbert. It’s too bad to leave so much on father. Don’t you think he has had more on his mind lately?” “I’m afraid he has,” said Mrs. Harlow, with a sigh. “Why do you ask?”