"How do you think we women get along, Mr. Carpenter?" said Mrs Boddington, coming up with her cup. "How, Mis' Boddington?" "Yes, I'm asking that. A little more, Diana; it's first-rate, and so's the corn. It takes you and your mother!--How do you think we women feel, under orders all the time?" "Under orders!" said Mr. Carpenter. "Yes, all the time. How d'you think we feel about it?" "Must be uncommon powers of reaction," said the farmer. "My wife a'n't anywheres near killed yet." "Think any one'll ever get that piece of mantua-making under orders?" said Mrs. Boddington, looking towards the place where the frills and rufflings of Miss Masters' drapery stirred in the breeze, with the long light tresses of her unbound hair. The breeze was partly of her own making, as she stirred and turned and tossed her head in talking with Mr. Knowlton; the only one of the company whom she would talk with, indeed. The farmer took a good look at her. "Wall," said he,--"_I_ should say it was best to do with that kind of article what you would do with the steam from your tea kettle; let it go. 'Tain't no use to try to utilize everything, Mis' Boddington." "Evan Knowlton acts as if he thought differently." "Looks is enough, with some folks," said the farmer; "and she's a pretty enough creatur', take the outside of her. Had ought to be; for I guess that sort o' riggin' costs somethin'--don't it, Mis' Boddington?" "Cost?" said the lady. "Evan Knowlton is a fool if he lets himself be caught by such butterfly's wings. But men _are_ fools when women are pretty; there's no use reasoning against nature." "Wall, Diany," exclaimed Joe Bartlett, now drawing near with _his_ coffee cup,--"how comes you have all the work and other folks all the fun?" "Want some coffee, Joe?" "Fact, I do; that is, supposin' you have got any." "Plenty, Joe. That's what I am here for. Hold your cup. Who are you picking for to-day?" "Wall, _I_ ain't here for fun," said Joe; "there's no mistake about that. I b'lieve in fun too; I do sartain; but I _don't_ b'lieve in scratchin' it into you with blackberry brambles, nor no other. Thank'e, Diany; maybe this'll help me get along with the afternoon." "I never thought you would mind blackberry thorns, Joe." "No more I don't, come in the way o' business," said Joe, sipping his coffee. "Guess I kin stand a few knocks, let alone scratches, when I calculate to have 'em. But I don' know! my notion of pleasure's sun'thin' soft and easy like; ain't your'n? I expect to take scratches--bless you! but I don't call 'em fun. That's all I object to." "Then how come you here, Joe?" "Wall,--" said Joe slowly,--"I've got an old mother hum." "And she wanted some berries?" "She wanted a lot. What the women does with 'em all, beats me. Anyhow, the old lady'll have enough this time for all her wants." "How is she, Joe, to-day?"