“_I_ ain’t got anything agin ’er. Now, what’s the sense o’ you’re a-pretendin’ you don’t know the talk about ’er, mother?” Mr. Sybert’s tone had changed slightly. He did not like the poise of his wife’s body; it bespoke determination—a fight to the finish if necessary. “You know she’s be’n the town talk fer five years. Your own tawngue hez run on about ’er like’s if ’t was split in the middle an’ loose at both en’s. There wa’n’t a woman in town that spoke to ’er”—— “There was men, though, that did,” said Mrs. Sybert, calmly. “I rec’lect bein’ in at Mis’ Carney’s one day, an’ seein’ you meet ’er opposite an’ take off your hat to ’er—bowin’ an’ scrapin’ right scrumptious like.” Mr. Sybert changed his position uneasily, and cleared his throat. “Well, that’s diff’rent,” he said. “I ust to know ’er before ’er husband died”—— “Well, I ust to know ’er, then, too,” said Mrs. Sybert, quietly. “Well, you hed to stop speakin’ to ’er after she got to actin’ up so, but it wa’n’t so easy fer me to stop biddin’ ’er the time o’ day.” “Why not?” said Mrs. Sybert, stolidly. “Why not!” repeated her husband, loudly; he was losing his temper. “What’s the sense o’ your actin’ the fool so, mother? Why, if I’d ’a’ set myself up as bein’ too virtjus to speak to ’er ev’ry man in town ’u’d ’a’ be’n blagg’ardin’ me about bein’ so mighty good!” “Why _sh’u’dn’t_ you be so mighty good, father? You expect me to be, I notice.” Mr. Sybert choked two or three times. His face was growing purplish. “Oh, _damn_!” he burst out. Then he looked frightened. “Now, see here, mother! You’re aggravatin’ me awful. You know as well as me that men ain’t expected to be as good all their lives as women”—— “Why ain’t they expected to?” Mrs. Sybert’s tone and look were stern. “I don’t know why they ain’t, mother, but I know they _ain’t_ expected to—an’ I know they ain’t as _good_, ’ither.” This last was a fine bit of diplomacy. But it was wasted. “They ain’t as good, aigh? Well, the reason they ain’t as good is just because they ain’t expected to be! That’s just the reason. You can’t get around that, can you, father?” Evidently he could not. “An’ now,” continued Mrs. Sybert, “that she’s up an’ married Mr. Nesley an’ wants to live a right life, I’m a-goin’ to see her.” “How d’you know she wants to live a right life?” “I don’t know it, father. I just _reckon_ she does. When you wanted I sh’u’d marry you, my father shook his head, an’ says—‘Lucindy, I do’ know what to say. John’s be’n a mighty fast young fello’ to give a good girl to fer the askin’,’ but I says—‘Well, father, I reckon he wants to start in an’ live a right life now.’ An’ so I reckon that about Mis’ Nesley.” “God A’mighty, mother!” exclaimed Mr. Sybert, violently. “That’s diff’rent. Them things ain’t counted the same in men. Most all men nowadays sow their wild oats an’ then settle down, an’ ain’t none the worse for it. It just helps ’em to appreciate good women, an’ to make good husbands.”