card and tossing it down again. "I knew the family couldn't help but like Madge once they knew her, and I'm mighty glad!"
"So am I, Oliver. She's got the loveliest, sweetest disposition! Sometimes I've been afraid that you would be the one not to appreciate it. She's thinking a lot how to make you happy, Oliver. Her head is full of schemes and little devices to please and satisfy you; and I've been wondering if you've been thinking up little ways to please her. Sometimes married people take it for granted that schemes and methods and contrivances for happiness are superfluous, if they love each other; but I believe that new love needs just about as much care and tending as that little helpless baby in there. I hope you think so too, Oliver."
"I don't know as I'd thought much about it. I'm not much of a philosopher on such subjects. Things come to me in flashes, and they stick too. I remember the last time I ever had a real good old time with the college crowd was at Ruth's party, two or three years ago. I drank more than was good for me that night and when I came to go upstairs about four A. M., right there on the landing waiting for me was Father. Somebody had left his picture lighted up, you know, and it was absolutely gruesome how he stared down at me out of his frame—like a ghost or something. I never forgot it. I tried to get the fellows to put out the light, but they couldn't find the switch. It was horrible to struggle up in front of Father in my condition—I can't explain it; but from that day to this I've never been able to enjoy that sort of a time since. I've never taken more than I
