But we understand each other now, and I am sure that God dealt wisely and kindly with us when He brought together two such opposite natures. No man of my vehement nature could have borne with me as Ernest has done, and if he had married a woman as calm, as undemonstrative as himself what a strange home his would have been for the nurture of little children? But the heart was in him, and only wanted to be waked up, and my life has called forth music from his. Ah, there are no partings and meetings now that leave discords in the remembrance, no neglected birthdays, no forgotten courtesies. It is beautiful to see the thoughtful brow relax in presence of wife and children, and to know that ours is, at last, the happy home I so long sighed for. Is the change all in Ernest? Is it not possible that I have grown more reasonable, less childish and aggravating? We are at a farm-house. Everything is plain, but neat and nice. I asked Mrs. Brown, our hostess; the other day, if she did not envy me my four little pets; she smiled, said they were the best children she ever saw, and that it was well to have a family if you have means to start them in the world; for her part, she lived from, hand to mouth as it was, and was sure she could never stand the worry and care of a house full of young ones. "But the worry and care is only half the story," I said. "The other half is pure joy and delight." "Perhaps so, to people that are well-to-do," she replied; "but to poor folks, driven to death as we are, it's another thing. I was telling him yesterday what a mercy it was there wasn't any young ones round under my feet, and I could take city boarders, and help work off the mortgage on the farm." "And what did your husband say to that?" "Well, he said we were young and hearty, and there was no such tearing hurry about the mortgage and that he'd give his right hand to have a couple of boys like yours." "Well?"--"Why, I said, supposing we had a couple, of boys, they wouldn't be like yours, dressed to look genteel and to have their genteel ways but a pair of wild colts, into everything, tearing their clothes off their backs, and wasting faster than we could earn. He said 'twasn't the clothes, 'twas the flesh and blood he wanted, and 'twasn't no use to argufy about it; a man that hadn't got any children wasn't mor'n half a man. 'Well,' says I, supposing you had a pack of, 'em, what have you got to give 'em?' 'Jest exactly what my father and mother gave me,' says he; 'two hands to earn their bread with, and a welcome you could have heard from Dan to Beersheba.'" "I like to hear that!" I said. "And I hope many such welcomes will resound in this house. Suppose money does come in while little goes-out; suppose you get possession of the whole farm; what then? Who will enjoy it with you? Who will you leave it to when you die? And in your old age who will care for you?" "You seem awful earnest," she said.