“But I detest walking in the country.  What is there to see?  And you get your shoes muddy, and burrs on your clothes, and don’t meet a creature!  I got so tired the other day when Grace and Rose Ferguson would drag me off to what they call ‘the glen.’  They kept oh-ing and ah-ing and exclaiming to each other about some stupid thing every step of the way,—­old pokey nutgalls, bare twigs of trees, and red and yellow leaves, and ferns!  I do wish you could have seen the armful of trash that those two girls carried into their respective houses.  I would not have such stuff in mine for any thing.  I am tired of all this talk about Nature.  I am free to confess that I don’t like Nature, and do like art; and I wish we only lived in New York, where there is something to amuse one.”

[Illustration:  “But I detest walking in the country.”]

“Well, Lillie dear, I am sorry; but we don’t live in New York, and are not likely to,” said John.

“Why can’t we?  Mrs. Follingsbee said that a man in your profession, and with your talents, could command a fortune in New York.”

“If it would give me the mines of Golconda, I would not go there,” said John.

“How stupid of you!  You know you would, though.”

“No, Lillie; I would not leave Springdale for any money.”

“That is because you think of nobody but yourself,” said Lillie.  “Men are always selfish.”

“On the contrary, it is because I have so many here depending on me, of whom I am bound to think more than myself,” said John.

“That dreadful mission-work of yours, I suppose,” said Lillie; “that always stands in the way of having a good time.”

“Lillie,” said John, shutting his book, and looking at her, “what is your ideal of a good time?”

“Why, having something amusing going on all the time,—­something bright and lively, to keep one in good spirits,” said Lillie.

“I thought that you would have enough of that with your party and all,” said John.

“Well, now it’s all over, and duller than ever,” said Lillie.  “I think a little spirt of gayety makes it seem duller by contrast.”

“Yet, Lillie,” said John, “you see there are women, who live right here in Springdale, who are all the time busy, interested, and happy, with only such sources of enjoyment as are to be found here.  Their time does not hang heavy on their hands; in fact, it is too short for all they wish to do.”

“They are different from me,” said Lillie.

“Then, since you must live here,” said John, “could you not learn to be like them? could you not acquire some of these tastes that make simple country life agreeable?”

“No, I can’t; I never could,” said Lillie, pettishly.

“Then,” said John, “I don’t see that anybody can help your being unhappy.”  And, opening his book, he sat down, and began to read.

Lillie pouted awhile, and then drew from under the sofa-pillow a copy of “Indiana;” and, establishing her feet on the fender, she began to read.