sot down your box in the old place — if there's anything that tries me, it's living in such a litter! — it's so unnecessary when there are only two of us!" Now our friend Lucy had an uncommon portion of that sixth sense, which enables a person to see, hear, and feel for others, called in polite life tact; and by rectifying these little blunders of Broadson, slipping the newspaper into the right place, picking up the handkerchief before the argus' eye had fallen on it, &c., &c., she had, though he was rather oyster-like in the selfish independence of his existence, begun to elicit sparks of gratitude which appeared in a "bless me!" and then, as his sensibilities were roused by a sense of the pattering escaped, a "thank you, child!" "an attentive little girl!" and finally, when one evening, as he heard his wife's quick step approaching through the entry, he shoved a lamp off the table, which Lucy dexterously caught before a drop of oil had touched the Brussels carpet, he actually thrust his hand into his pocket with the intention of bestowing a half dollar, as the reward of his signal preservation, when he was prevented either by the too sudden entrance of Mrs. Broadson, or the recollection of one of her economical "rules" that "it was never best to give presents to servants — it always led to expectations!"
When the tea-apparatus and Lucy had disappeared, some secret thought of his sudden deliverance prompted him to ask his spouse "what wages she gave that little girl."
"Three dollars and a half, my dear — high — considering her years, and considering there are only two of us."
"Why, no, my love, I don't think it is extrava-
