"And in short," said I, "she gave you notice that you must provide for Miss O'Connor in some more agreeable way. Cross that name off your list, at any rate. That woman and girl need a few hard raps in the school of experience before you can do anything for them." "I think I shall," said my long-suffering wife; "but it 's a pity to see a young thing put in the direct road to ruin." "It is one of the inevitables," said I, "and we must save our strength for those that are willing to help themselves." "What's all this talk about?" said Bob, coming in upon us rather brusquely. "O, as usual, the old question," said I,--"'What's to be done with her?'" "Well," said Bob, "it's exactly what I've come to talk with mother about. Since she keeps a distressed-women's agency-office, I've come to consult her about Marianne. That woman will die before six months are out, a victim to high civilization and the Paddies. There we are, twelve miles out from Boston, in a country villa so convenient that every part of it might almost do its own work,--everything arranged in the most convenient, contiguous, self-adjusting, self-acting, patent-right, perfective manner,--and yet, I tell you, Marianne will die of that house. It will yet be recorded on her tombstone, 'Died of conveniences.' For myself, what I languish for is a log cabin, with a bed in one corner, a trundle-bed underneath for the children, a fireplace only six feet off, a table, four chairs, one kettle, a coffee-pot, and a tin baker,--that's all. I lived deliciously in an establishment of this kind last summer, when I was up at Lake Superior; and I am convinced, if I could move Marianne into it at once, that she would become a healthy and a happy woman. Her life is smothered out of her with comforts; we have too many rooms, too many carpets, too many vases and knick-knacks, too much china and silver; she has too many laces and dresses and bonnets; the children all have too many clothes;--in fact, to put it scripturally, our riches are corrupted, our garments are moth-eaten, our gold and our silver is cankered,--and, in short, Marianne is sick in bed, and I have come to the agency-office-for-distressed-women to take you out to attend to her.