"Ach," Amanda said in her quick way, "I ain't thinkin' of such things. Anyhow, I don't like Lyman so good. He's all the time braggin' about his pop's money and how much his mom pays for things, and at school he don't play fair at recess. Sometimes, too, he cheats in school when we have a spellin' match Friday afternoons. Then he traps head and thinks he's smart." Uncle Amos nodded his head. "Chip o' the old block." "Now, look here," chided Millie, "ain't you ashamed, Amos, to put such notions in a little girl's head, about beaus and such things?" The man chuckled. "What's born in heads don't need to be put in." Amanda wondered what he meant, but her mother and Millie laughed. "Women's women," he added knowingly. "Some wakes up sooner than others, that's all! Millie, when you goin' to get you a man? You're gettin' along now--just about my age, so I know--abody that cooks like you do-- " "Amos, you just keep quiet! I ain't lookin' for a man. I got a home, and if I want something to growl at me I'll go pull the dog's tail." That evening the kitchen of the Reist farmhouse was a busy place. Baskets of apples stood on the floor. On the table were huge earthen dishes ready for the pared fruit. Equipped with a paring knife and a tin pie-plate for parings every member of the household drew near the table and began snitzing. There was much merry conversation, some in quaint Pennsylvania Dutch, then again in English tinged with the distinctive accent. There was also much laughter as Uncle Amos vied with Millie for the honor of making the thinnest parings. "Here comes Lyman. Make place for him," cried Amanda as a boy of fifteen came to the kitchen door. "You can't come in here unless you work," challenged Uncle Amos. "I can do that," said the boy, though he seemed none too eager to take the knife and plate Mrs. Reist offered him. "You dare sit beside me," Amanda offered. Lyman smiled his appreciation of the honor, but the girl's eyes twinkled as she added, "so I can watch that you make thin peelin's." "That's it," said Uncle Amos. "Boys, listen! Mostly always when a woman's kind to you there's something back of it." "Ach, Amos, you're soured," said Millie. "No, not me," he declared. "I know there's still a few good women in the world. Ach, yea," he sighed deeply and looked the incarnation of misery, "soon I'll have three to boss me, with Amanda here growin' like a weed!" "Don't you know," Mrs. Reist reminded him, "how Granny used to say that one good boss is better than six poor workers? You don't appreciate us, Amos." "I give up." Uncle Amos spread his hands in surrender. "I give up. When women start arguin' where's a man comin' in at?" "I wouldn't give up," spoke out Lyman. "A man ought to have the last word every time." "Ach, you don't know women," said Uncle Amos, chuckling. "A man was made to be master," the youth went on, evidently quoting some recent reading. "Woman is the weaker vessel."