we deal with life, my little helpmeet. Will we not, eh? What though it blink at us like an owl that is blinded by the sun, we will yet force it to smile.

His Wife.

Yes, and to dance to our singing, too. Together we will do it.

The Man.

Yes, together, my paragon among wives, my trusty comrade, my brave little armour-bearer. So long as I have thee by my side, nothing can make me fear. A fig for poverty! We may be poor to-day, but we shall be rich to-morrow.

His Wife.

And what does hunger matter? To-day we may be without a crust, but to-morrow we shall be feasting.

The Man.

Think you so? Well, 'tis very likely. But I shall require a great deal of satisfying. What think you of this for our daily menu? First meal in the morning, tea, coffee, or chocolate, whichever we prefer; then a breakfast of three courses; then luncheon; then dinner; then supper; then——

His Wife.

Yes; and always as much fruit as possible. I adore fruit!

The Man.

Very well. I will go out and buy it myself—buy it in the market-place, where it is cheapest and most fresh. Besides, we shall be having our own fruit garden before long.

His Wife.

But we have no land yet?

The Man.

No, but I shall soon be buying some. I have always wished to possess an estate, not only as a pleasure-ground, but also as a place where I may build a house from my own designs. The rascally world shall see what an architect I am!

His Wife.

I should like the house to be in Italy, close to the sea: a villa of white marble, set in the midst of a grove of lime-trees and cypresses, with white marble steps leading down to the blue waters.

The Man.

Yes, I see your idea. It would be capital. Yet my plan, rather, is to build a castle on a Norwegian mountain, with a fjord below, and the castle parched on a peak above. Have we no paper? Well, never mind. I can show you on the wall what I mean. This is the fjord. Do you see?

His Wife.

Yes. How beautiful!

The Man.

And here are the deep, sparkling waters, reflecting the tender green of the grass above. Here, too, is a red, black, and cinnamon-coloured cliff. And there, in that gap (just where I have made that smudge), is a patch of blue sky, gleaming through a fleecy white cloud.

His Wife.

Nay, it is not a cloud. Rather, it is a white boat, with its reflection in the water, like two white swans joined breast to breast.

The Man.

And see, over all there rises a mountain, with sides of brilliant green, except just at the top, where it is more misty and rugged. Here, too, are sharp spurs, and dark shadows of clefts, and wisps of cloud.

His Wife.

Oh, it looks like a ruined castle!

The Man.

And here—on that "ruined castle," as you call it (just where I have put that mark in the centre)—I will build me a stately mansion.

His Wife.

But it will be so cold up there—so windy?

The Man.

Nay, I shall give the mansion stout walls and huge windows of plate-glass; and then at night, when the winter storms are raging and the fjord is tossing below, we shall draw the curtains over the windows, and heap up a roaring fire (I shall make enormous fireplaces, you know—large enough to hold whole trunks of trees, whole beams of pine).