Everything proclaimed the mischievous propensities of the recent occupants of the chamber. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. She thought that women were not made for the struggle and turmoil of life— their place was the little world, the home; that their power lay not in votes but in influence over men and in making the minds of their children fine and splendid. "No," replied Jonathan, moodily. “Oh, yes, that’s right, we go to school. “Cheveney!” she repeated. Stanley?” “I’ve fallen out with my father.
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