“An infant’s skull doesn’t stand much knocking about, I suppose, Mrs. Yellett?” “Not a great deal, if there ain’t plenty of vinegar and brown paper handy, and I seldom had such fancy fixings in camp. It’s too bad my boys should be dumb ’n account of a little thing like vinegar and brown paper.” “Maw, they be dumb as Injuns,” declared Cacta, preening herself, while the Messrs. Yellett reapplied themselves to their dinner with ostentatious interest. “Well, well!” said Mrs. Yellett; “it be a hard blow to me to know that my sons are lackings; there’s mothers I know as would give vent to their disapp’inted ambition in ways I’d consider crool to the absent-minded. Now hearken, the whole outfit of you! Any offspring of mine now present and forever after holding his peace, who proves feebleminded by the end of the coming week, takes over all the work, labor, and chores of such offspring as demonstrates himself in full possession of his faculties, the matter to be reported on by the gov’ment.” No sovereign, issuing a proclamation of war, could have assumed a more formidable mien than Mrs. Yellett, squatting erect on the prairie, crowned by her rabbit-skin cap. Mary and Judith, with bland, impassive expressions, noted the effect of the mandate. There was not the faintest symptom of rebellion; each Brobdingnag accepted the matriarch’s edict without a murmur. With an air of further meditation on the efficacy of brown paper and vinegar at the crucial moment, Mrs. Yellett suddenly observed: “The lacking, like the dog, may be taught to fetch and carry a book; but to learn it he is unable.” “Maw, does it say that in the Book of Hiram?” asked Clematis. “It says that, an’ more, too. It says, ‘The words of the wise are an expense, but the lovin’ parent don’t grudge ’em.’” Mary Carmichael had noticed, as her alien presence came to be less of a check on Mrs. Yellett’s natural medium of expression, that she was much addicted to a species of quotation with which she impartially adorned her conversation, pointed family morals, or administered an occasional reproof. These family aphorisms were sometimes semi-legal, sometimes semi-scriptural in turn of phrase, and built on a foundation of homely philosophy. They were ascribed to the “Book of Hiram” and never failed of salutary effect in the family circle. But the apt quotations that she had just heard piqued Mary’s curiosity more than before. “Do you happen to have a copy of the Book of Hiram, Mrs. Yellett?” she asked, in all innocence, supposing that the ‘homely apothegms were to be found at the back of some patent-medicine almanac. Judith Rodney listened in wonder. The question had never before been asked in her hearing. “I lost mine.” Mrs. Yellett folded her arms and looked at her questioner with something of a challenging mien. “What a pity! I’ve been so interested in the quotations I’ve heard you make from it.” “What’s the matter with ’em?” she demanded, pride and apprehension equally commingled.