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ELLEN GOODWIN’S TRIAL. 
BY S. ANNIE FROST. 
‘ 1 Going out again ? ” 
Ella Goodwin spoke in a fretful tone, and her pretty 
face was puckered up into a most dismal frown. 
“ I promised Charley I would step round for an 
hour or two, and have a game of dominos.” 
“ Anything to get away from home ! ” 
But Will Goodwin was already out of hearing. 
His wife, after a fretful remark, addressed to the 
walls, to the effect that she w T as a fool for ever getting 
married, took a novel from under the sofa cushion and 
was soon reading with an air of absorbed interest, 
when there came a tap at the door, and an elderly 
lady with a sweet, fair face, came in. 
“Alone?” she said, as Ella eagerly welcomed her 
and took off her wraps. 
“ I am always alone! Will gets his meals here! ” 
was the hitter reply. “ He goes to the store as soon 
as he swallows his breakfast, and he is always out in 
the evening. Now he is with his brother, playing 
dominos.” 
“ Don’t you play dominos ?” 
“Yes.” 
“ I’d keep him at home to play.” 
“He would not care to stay. I suppose all young 
married men tire of home, Aunt 
“Not all! But you speak in a bitter tone that 
pains me, Ella. It is not like you.” 
“ I feel bitter! I have no one to talk to but you, 
and I never complained before, hut I am tired of being 
alone all the time.” 
“Ella, since you have spoken to me, will you let 
me give you a word of advice ? ” 
“ You know you may.” 
“Look in the mirror, dear, then look round the 
room! ” Ella obeyed. In the mirror she saw a slen¬ 
der figure robed in a morning wrapper, without any 
collar or cuffs, and not precisely clean; a face pretty 
and expressive, with a wreath of golden hair loosely 
knotted in a comb and decidedly untidy. The room, 
a handsomely furnished sitting-room, was begging for 
a broom as eloquently as a dusty carpet could beg. 
Harry’s cradle in one corner balanced a disordered 
work-table in another. The center-table was piled 
with miscellaneous articles. 
A crimson flush rose on the young wife’s cheek. 
“ What is the use of having things nice when no¬ 
body sees them but me, or dressing, when Will is 
never at home ? ” 
“He might be at home more if things were nice and 
you were dressed.” 
There was silence for a few moments. Then Ella 
spoke. 
“ I’ll try it, auntie. I suppose it is partly my fault. 
Before Harry was born he was at home more, but I 
have been careless since then.” 
“You are not strong, I know,” Aunt Mary said, 
very kindly, “and baby is a care, but I would try to 
be dressed in the evening, and have the room cheerful. 
Your piano looks as if it was never opened! Don’t 
you have time to practice ? ” 
“I can’t plead want of time, auntie. Jane is one 
of the best of servants, and time hangs upon my hands. 
I am glad you came in. I believe I want a moral 
shaking.” 
Then they talked of other matters, of Harry’s first 
tooth and baby accomplishments, of the winter fash¬ 
ions, of feminine interests of all kinds. The innate 
sweetness of Ella’s temper made her take her aunt’s 
gentle reproof in the spirit of love that dictated it, and 
when the parting caress was given, she whispered : 
“111 try, auntie, to make home more attractive for 
Will.” 
She was fast asleep with Harry nestled in her arms 
when Will came home, but the touch of his lips upon 
her cheek aroused her. 
“Did you have a pleasant evening?” she asked. 
“Aunt Mary was here and left her love for you.” 
“ Charley and I played awhile, and then Mira 
Creighton dropped in and sang for us.” 
“She seems to drop in pretty often.” 
“ She is so intimate with the girls.” 
“ I never thought her singing very wonderful.” 
“ You sing far better. But when I can’t get any 
better, I like hers.” 
It was not the first time Will had told the same 
story; and strong in her new resolutions, Ella deter¬ 
mined upon a good hour of practice, early in the 
morning. 
Jane was rather amazed at the cleaning the sitting- 
room received at the hands of herself and her mistress. 
The cradle was banished into an adjoining bed-room, 
where baby could be heard if he awakened; the fire- 
shovel assumed its legitimate place at the hearth. It 
rather astonished Ella herself to find how many useless 
articles were about, and how universally everything 
was in the wrong place. 
The six o’clock dinner brought Will. Ella was in 
the hall as he entered, and led the way to the dining¬ 
room, where a cheery brightness reigned. 
“Company, NelL?” queried Will, his eyes resting 
upon his wife. 
“No company,” said Ella, “but ourselves, unless 
you count Harry. I have made you some ol the 
bread-sauce you are so fond of, Will! ” 
“ You’re a jewel. Only don’t make yourself sick 
in the hot kitchen, Nell! You are not very strong, 
you know.” 
Nell blushed at that, for it reminded her of many a 
neglected duty, many a lazy hour for which the plea 
had been offered in excuse. 
“ That did not hurt me,” said she, “ for I was in 
the kitchen making some lemon pies.” 
“Lemon pies! You make my mouth water. No¬ 
body else can make them to taste like yours! ” 
Dinner over, Will in great good humor went to the 
sitting-room. The open grate threw a ruddy glow 
upon the bright surroundings, and his face lighted 
with pleasure. But the large eyes fairly danced as he 
cried: “The Piano open! I began to think it was 
buried for ever! ” 
“Not quite,” said Ella, laughing, and yet blushing, 
brightly. “ I thought from what you said last night, 
you would like to hear me sing again ! ” 
“You bet I would! ” was the emphatic if not very 
elegant response. 
“ Let’s play dominos then till I can sing. It is too 
soon after dinner now. Be merciful, for I am out of 
practice, remember.” 
Here Jane came in with Master Harry, ready for 
bed, and after soft kisses he was taken into the next 
room and put into his cradle. 
“You will come up if he cries, Jane,” Ella said, 
and took down the domino box. “I think Harry is 
old enough now to spare me in the evening,” she added 
in explanation. 
“Little monkey, how he grows!” was the reply. 
“ Come, what is your highest?” 
Cunningly Ella kept up the interest of the game 
till nearly nine o’clock, when Will certainly would 
j not go out. Then she sang for him. Her voice, 
clear and sweet, had beeu highly cultivated, and sli ■ 
was surprised to find how much pleasure she felt her¬ 
self in once more exercising it. 
Eleven o’clock chimed from the liftle mantel clock 
when Will was pleading for ‘ just one more” song, 
and Ella sang the “ Good night. 
“ By Jove ! ” cried Will, “ I 
at the club-room at eight. 
Where has the evening 
Any other evening will do as well,” 
gone 
“ Never mind! 
said Ella. 
The next day was stormy. Ella appeared at break¬ 
fast with the neatest of collars and cuffs, hair in a knot 
like burnished gold, and a face like a sunbeam. Will, 
who had eaten in solitary state for more, mornings 
than his wife cared to count, was as attentive as a 
lover. His parting kiss accompanied the words : 
“ Take a nap, Nell, this morning. We must keep 
you well, you know! I haven’t enjoyed my breakfast 
so much for a year.” 
“ Don’t forget the new songs, Will. If you will 
send them round, I will try them over before you 
come home.” 
“I’ll send them then as I go down town.” 
Wet and dismally muddy, Will came in from a 
February storm of rain upon melting snow. Ella was 
waiting for him, and drew him into the bedroom. 
Before the fire hung a dressing-gown of bright cash- 
mere, with blue silk, while under the dry, warm socks, 
a pair of gorgeous slippers we re toasting. 
“ Good gracious, Nell, where did those come from?” 
said Will, hastily, drawing off his soaked boots. 
“It is your birthday. Have you forgotten? I 
bought those to-day for you.” 
“ Out in all this rain?” 
“ I did not walk much. Try them on, Will ? ” 
“Fine as a Turk!” said Will, twisting before a 
mirror to see how the dressing gown fitted. 
“ Now, come have some hot soup ; I made it.” 
“ See here, Nell, ain’t you doing too much ?” 
“Not a bit. I needed a gopd roasting over the 
fire after being out, and I took it over soup and pud¬ 
ding in the kitchen, instead of a novel here. That is 
all the difference.” 
Again eleven o’clock struck before Will knew the 
evening was half gone. 
“ Charley will think I have deserted him,” he said, 
“ but slippers and dressing-gowns are too comfortable 
to be easily resigned.” 
Ella softly stroked the hair of a head resting upon 
the back of the great arm chair, as Will spoke. A 
strong arm encircled her, and she was drawn to her 
husband’s knee. 
“Little woman,” he said tenderly, “I cannot tell 
you how glad I am you are well again. It was awfully 
dismal seeing you always in that direful wrapper. 
But —” and, man like, he hesitated, “ I suppose I 
ought to have stayed at home more ! ” 
“You will now?” she said, anxiously. 
“ Where can 1 find so pleasant a place,” he said, 
with loving fervor, “or so precious a companion?” 
It was nearly a month later that Aunt Mary, spend¬ 
ing an evening with Will’s mother, heard Charley 
grumblingly declare: 
“ There is no getting Will to go anywhere nowadays. 
He sticks at home in the evening as if he were glued 
there. I went round thei’e Saturday; Jane was out, 
Nell lying on the lounge with a headache, and Will 
reading to her, while he rocked the cradle with one 
foot.” 
“Can’t leave,” he told me; “Nell requires all my 
attention, for I can’t possibly afford to have her sick 
again! ” 
