"There," said he, as he deposited his wife and his bags in a seat in the huge waiting-room; "now you stay right here, an' don't you move. I'm goin' to find out about hotels and things."

He was gone so long that she was nearly fainting from fright before she spied his dear form coming toward her. His thin, plain face looked wonderfully beautiful to her, and she almost hugged him right before all those people.

"Well, I've got a hotel all right; but I hain't been here for so long I've kinder forgot about the streets, so the man said we'd better have a team to take us there." And he picked up the bags and trudged off, closely followed by Emily.

His shrewd Yankee wit carried him safely through a bargain with the driver, and they were soon jolting and rumbling along to their destination. He had asked the man behind the news-stand about a hotel, casually mentioning that he had money--plenty of it--and wanted a "bang-up good place." The spirit of mischief had entered the heart of the news-man, and he had given Reuben the name of one of the very highest-priced, most luxurious hotels in the city.

As the carriage stopped, Reuben marched boldly up the broad steps and entered the palatial office, with Emily close at his heels. Two bell-boys sprang forward--the one to take the bags, the other to offer to show Mrs. Gray to the reception-room.

"No, thank you, I ain't particular," said she sweetly; "I'll wait for Reuben here." And she dropped into the nearest chair, while her husband advanced toward the desk. She noticed that men were looking curiously at her, and she felt relieved when Reuben and the pretty boy came back and said they would go up to their room.

She stood the elevator pretty well, though she gave a little gasp (which she tried to choke into a cough) as it started. Reuben turned to the boy.

"Where can I get somethin' to eat?"

"Luncheon is being served in the main dining-room on the first floor, sir."

Visions of a lunch as he knew it in Emily's pantry came to him, and he looked a little dubious.

"Well, I'm pretty hungry; but if that's all I can get I suppose it will have to do."

Ten minutes later an officious head waiter, whom Emily looked upon with timid awe, was seating them in a superbly appointed dining-room. Reuben looked at the menu doubtfully, while an attentive, soft-voiced man at his elbow bent low to catch his order. Few of the strange-looking words conveyed any sort of meaning to the poor hungry man. At length spying "chicken" halfway down the card, he pointed to it in relief.

"I guess I'll take some of that," he said, briefly; then he added, "I don't know how much it costs--you hain't got no price after it."

The waiter comprehended at once.

"The luncheon is served in courses, sir; you pay for the whole--whether you eat it or not," he added shrewdly. "If you will let me serve you according to my judgment, sir, I think I can please you."

And there the forlorn little couple sat, amazed and hungry, through six courses, each one of which seemed to their uneducated palate one degree worse than the last.

Two hours later they started for a long walk down the wonderful, fascinating street. Each marvelous window display came in for its full share of attention, but they stood longest before bakeries and restaurants. Finally, upon coming to one of the latter, where an enticing sign announced "_Boiled Dinner To-day, Served Hot at All Hours_," Reuben could endure it no longer.

"By Jinks, Em'ly, I've just got to have some of that. That stodged-up mess I ate at the hotel didn't go to the spot at all. Come on, let's have a good square meal."

The hotel knew them just one night. The next morning before breakfast Reuben manfully paid his--to him astounding--bill and departed for more congenial quarters, which they soon found on a neighboring side street.

The rest of the visit was, of course, delightful, only the streets were pretty crowded and noisy, and they couldn't sleep very well at night; moreover, Reuben lost his pocketbook with a small sum of money in it; so, on the whole, they concluded to go home a little before the two weeks ended.

When spring came Nancy returned to her former mistress, and her vacant throne remained unoccupied. Little by little the dust gathered on the big velvet chairs in the parlor, and the room was opened less and less.

When the first green things commenced to send tender shoots up through the wet, brown earth, Reuben's restlessness was very noticeable. By and by he began to go off very early in the morning, returning at noon for a hasty dinner, then away again till night. To his wife's repeated questioning he would reply, sheepishly, "Oh, just loafin', that's all."

And Emily was nervous, too. Of late she had taken a great fancy to a daily walk, and it always led in one direction--down past the little brown house. Of course, she glanced over the fence at the roses and lilacs, and she couldn't help seeing that they all looked sadly neglected. By and by the weeds came, grew, and multiplied; and every time she pa.s.sed the gate her throat fairly choked in sympathy with her old pets.

Evenings, she and Reuben spent very happily on the back stoop, talking of their great good fortune in being able to live in such a fine large house. Somehow they said more than usual about it this spring, and Reuben often mentioned how glad he was that his wife didn't have to dig in the garden any more; and Emily would reply that she, too, was glad that he was having so easy a time. Then they would look down at the little brown farmhouse and wonder how they ever managed to get along in so tiny a place.

One day, in pa.s.sing this same little house, Emily stopped a moment and leaned over the gate, that she might gain a better view of her favorite rosebush.

She evinced the same interest the next two mornings, and on the third she timidly opened the gate and walked up the old path to the door. A buxom woman with a big baby in her arms, and a bigger one hanging to her skirts, answered her knock.

"How do you do, Mis' Gray. Won't you come in?" said she civilly, looking mildly surprised.

"No, thank you--yes--I mean--I came to see you," stammered Emily confusedly.

"You're very good," murmured the woman, still standing in the doorway.

"Your flowers are so pretty," ventured Mrs. Gray, unable to keep the wistfulness out of her voice.

"Do you think so?" carelessly; "I s'pose they need weedin'. What with my babies an' all, I don't get much time for posies."

"Oh, please,--would it be too much trouble to let me come an' putter around in the beds?" queried the little woman eagerly. "Oh, I would like it so much!"

The other laughed heartily.

"Well, I really don't see how it's goin' to trouble me to have you weedin' my flowers; in fact, I should think the shoe would be on the other foot." Then the red showed in her face a little. "You're welcome to do whatever you want, Mis' Gray."

"Oh, thank you!" exclaimed Emily, as she quickly pulled up an enormous weed at her feet.

It took but a few hours' work to bring about a wonderfully happy change in that forlorn garden, and then Mrs. Gray found that she had a big pile of weeds to dispose of. Filling her ap.r.o.n with a portion of them, she started to go behind the house in search of a garbage heap. Around the corner she came face to face with her husband, hoe in hand.

"Why, Reuben Gray! Whatever in the world are _you_ doing?"

For a moment the man was crushed with the enormity of his crime; then he caught sight of his wife's dirt-stained fingers.

"Well, I guess I ain't doin' no worse than you be!" And he turned his back and began to hoe vigorously.

Emily dropped the weeds where she stood, turned about, and walked through the garden and up the hill, pondering many things.

Supper was strangely quiet that night. Mrs. Gray had asked a single question: "Reuben, do you want the little house back?"

A glad light leaped into the old man's eyes.

"Em'ly--would you be willin' to?"

After the supper dishes were put away, Mrs. Gray, with a light shawl over her head, came to her husband on the back stoop.

"Come, dear; I think we'd better go down to-night."

A few minutes later they sat stiffly in the best room of the farmhouse, while the buxom woman and her husband looked wonderingly at them.

"You wan't thinkin' of sellin', was ye?" began Reuben insinuatingly.

The younger man's eyelid quivered a little. "Well, no,--I can't hardly say that I was. I hain't but just bought."

Reuben hitched his chair a bit and glanced at Emily.

"Well, me and my wife have concluded that we're too old to transplant--we don't seem to take root very easy--and we've been thinkin'--would you swap even, now?"