Mrs. Lieders gulped down her tears. “Oh, not so bad as that, I cut him down, he was up in the garret and I sus--suspected him and I run up and--oh, he was there, a choking, and he was so mad! He swore at me and--he kicked me when I--I says: 'Kurt, what are you doing of? Hold on till I git a knife,' I says--for his hands was just dangling at his side; and he says nottings cause he couldn't, he was most gone, and I knowed I wouldn't have time to git no knife but I saw it was a rope was pretty bad worn and so--so I just run and jumped and ketched it in my hands, and being I'm so fleshy it couldn't stand no more and it broke! And, oh! he--he kicked me when I was try to come near to git the rope off his neck; and so soon like he could git his breath he swore at me----” “And you a helping of him! Just listen to that!” cried the hearer indignantly. “So I come here for to git you and Mr. Olsen to help me git him down stairs, 'cause he is too heavy for me to lift, and he is so mad he won't walk down himself.” “Yes, yes, of course. I'll call Carl. Carl! dost thou hear? come! But did you dare to leave him Mrs. Lieders?” Part of the time she spoke in English, part of the time in her own tongue, gliding from one to another, and neither party observing the transition. Mrs. Lieders wiped her eyes, saying: “Oh, yes, Danke schon, I aint afraid 'cause I tied him with the rope, righd good, so he don't got no chance to move. He was make faces at me all the time I tied him.” At the remembrance, the tears welled anew. Mrs. Olsen, a little bright tinted woman with a nose too small for her big blue eyes and chubby cheeks, quivered with indignant sympathy. “Well, I did nefer hear of sooch a mean acting man!” seemed to her the most natural expression; but the wife fired, at once. “No, he is not a mean man,” she cried, “no, Freda Olsen, he is not a mean man at all! There aint nowhere a better man than my man; and Carl Olsen, he knows that. Kurt, he always buys a whole ham and a whole barrel of flour, and never less than a dollar of sugar at a time! And he never gits drunk nor he never gives me any bad talk. It was only he got this wanting to kill himself on him, sometimes.” “Well, I guess I'll go put on my things,” said Mrs. Olsen, wisely declining to defend her position. “You set right still and warm yourself, and we'll be back in a minute.” Indeed, it was hardly more than that time before both Carl Olsen, who worked in the same furniture factory as Kurt Lieders, and was a comely and after-witted giant, appeared with Mrs. Olsen ready for the street. He nodded at Mrs. Lieders and made a gurgling noise in his throat, expected to convey sympathy. Then, he coughed and said that he was ready, and they started. Feeling further expression demanded, Mrs. Olsen asked: “How many times has he done it, Mrs. Lieders?”