Home Scenes, and Home Influence | Page 7

had my old
instrument brought over from father's. This is as good a piano as I want,
or you either, I should think, seeing that you perceived no difference in
its tones from the one I parted with. Now, take this purse, and if you
don't call me the right sort of a wife you are a very strange man--that is
all I have to say."
Surprise kept Brainard silent for some moments. He looked at the piano,
then at his wife, and then at the purse of gold, half doubting whether all
were real, or only a pleasant dream.
"You are the right sort of a wife, Anna, and no mistake," said he, at
length, drawing his arm around her neck and kissing her. "You have
done what I had not the courage to do, and, in the act, saved me from a
world of trouble. The truth is, I never should have bought that piano. A
clerk, with a salary of only a thousand dollars, is not justified in
expending four hundred dollars for a piano."
"Nor in having so much costly furniture," said Anna, glancing round
the room.
Brainard sighed, for the thought of two hundred dollars yet to pay
flitted through his mind.
"Nor in paying three hundred dollars for rent," added Anna.
"Why do you say that?" asked Brainard.
"Because it's the truth. The fact is, George, I'm afraid we're in the
wrong road for comfort."
"Perhaps we are," was the young man's constrained admission.
"Then the quicker we get into the right way the better. Don't you think
so?"

"If we, are wrong, we should try to get right," said Brainard.
"It was wrong to buy that piano. This is your own admission."
"Well?"
"We are right again in that respect."
"Yes, thanks to my dear wife's good resolution and prompt action."
"It was wrong to take so costly a house," said Anna.
"I couldn't find a cheaper one that was genteel and comfortable."
"I'm sure I wouldn't ask any thing more genteel and comfortable than
Mrs. Tyler's house."
"That pigeon-box!"
Brainard spoke in, a tone of contempt.
"Why, George, how you talk! It's a perfect gem of a house, well built
and well finished in every part, and big enough for a family twice as
large as ours. I think it far more comfortable than this great barn of a
place, and would a thousand times rather live in it. And then it is
cheaper by a hundred and twenty dollars a year."
A hundred and twenty dollars! What a large sum of money. Ah, if he
had a hundred and twenty dollars in addition to the four hundred
received from Anna, how happy he would be! These were the thoughts
that were flitting through the mind of Brainard at the mention of the
amount that could be saved by taking a smaller house.
"Well, Anna, perhaps you are right. Oh, dear!"
"Why do you sigh so heavily, George?" asked Mrs. Brainard, looking
at her husband with some surprise.
"Because I can't help it," was frankly answered.
"You've got the money you needed?"
"Not all."
"Why, George! Didn't you say that you had only four hundred dollars
to pay?"
"I didn't say only."
"How much more?"
"The fact is, Anna, I have two hundred dollars yet to meet."
"To-day?"
Anna's face became troubled.
"No, not until the day after to-morrow."
The young wife's countenance lighted up again.
"Is that all?"

"Yes, thank Heaven, that is all. But how the payment is to be made, is
more than I can tell."
Dinner was now announced.
"I shall have to turn financier again," said Anna, smiling, as she drew
her arm within that of her husband, and led him away to the
dining-room.
"I'm a little afraid of your financiering," returned her husband, shaking
his head. "You might sell me next as a useless piece of furniture."
"Now, George, that is too bad," replied Anna, looking hurt.
"I only jested, dear," said Brainard, repairing the little wrong done to
her feelings with a kiss. "Your past efforts at financiering were
admirable, and I only hope your next attempt may be as successful."
Two days more passed, during which time neither Brainard nor his wife
said any thing to each other about money, although the thoughts of both
were busy for most of the time on that interesting subject. Silently sat
Brainard at the breakfast-table on the morning of the day when his last
note fell due. How was he to meet the payment? Two hundred dollars!
He had not so much as fifty dollars in his possession, and as to
borrowing, that was a vain hope. Must he go to the holder of the note,
and ask a renewal? He shrunk from the thought, murmuring to
himself--"Any