furbish and furbish afresh, till they shone brighter with every year that passed.
But when the weary and despondent housewife, in all secrecy, decked herself out with these jewels of memory, they did not succeed in shedding any brightness over her life in the present. She was scarcely conscious of any connection between the golden-locked angel with the red ribbons and the five-year-old boy who lay grubbing in the dark back yard. These moments snatched her quite away from reality; they were like opium dreams.
Then some one would call for her from an adjoining room, or one of the children would be brought in howling from the street, with a great bump on its forehead. Hastily she would hide away her treasures, resume her customary air of hopeless weariness, and plunge once more into her labyrinth of duties and cares.
—Thus had this marriage fared, and thus did this couple toil onward. They both dragged at the same heavy load; but did they drag in unison? It is sad, but it is true: when the manger is empty, the horses bite each other.—
—There was a great chocolate-party at the Misses Ludvigsen's—all maiden ladies.
"For married women are so prosaic," said the elder Miss Ludvigsen.
"Ugh, yes!" cried Louisa.
Every one was in the most vivacious humour, as is generally the case in such company, and on such
