Says I, “Don't you tell me that agin if you know what is good for yourself. I guess I know my own mind. I was past the age of whifflin', and foolin' round. I married that feller from pure love, and no other reason under the heavens. For there wuzn't any other reason only jest that, why I _should_ marry him.” And for a moment, or two moments, my mind roamed back onto that old, mysterious question that has haunted me more or less through my natural life, for over twenty years. _Why_ did I marry Josiah Allen? But I didn't revery on it long. I was too agitated, and wrought up; and I says agin, in tones witherin' enough to wither him,-- “The idee of sellin' me a feller!” But the chap didn't look withered a mite: he stood there firm and immovible, and says he,-- “I didn't mean no offense, mom. Sellin' attachments is what I get my living by”-- “Wall, I should ruther not get a livin',” says I, interruptin' of him. “I should ruther not live.” “As I said, mom, I get my livin' that way: and one of your neighbors told me that your feller was an old one, and sort o' givin' out; and I have got 'em with all the latest improvements, and--and she thought mebby I could sell you one.” “You miserable coot you!” says I. “Do you stop your impudent talk, or I will holler to Josiah. What do you s'pose I want with another feller? Do you s'pose I'd swap Josiah Allen for all the fellers that ever swarmed on the globe? What do you s'pose I care for the latest improvements? If a feller was made of pure gold from head to feet, with diamond eyes and a garnet nose, do you s'pose he would look so good to me as Josiah Allen duz? “And I would thank the neighbers to mind their own business, and let my affairs alone. What if he is a gettin' old and wore out? What if he is a givin' out? He is always kinder spindlin' in the spring of the year. Some men winter harder than others: he is a little tizicky, and breathes short, and his liver may not be the liver it was once; but he will come round all right when the weather moderates. And mebby they meant to hint and insinuate sunthin' about his bein' so bald, and losin' his teeth. “But I'll let you know, and I'll let the neighbors know, that I didn't marry that man for hair; I didn't marry that man for teeth, and a few locks more or less, or a handful of teeth, has no power over that love,--that love that makes me say from the very depths of my soul, that my feller is one of a thousand.” “I hain't disputed you, mom,” says he, with his firm, patient look. “I dare presume to say that your feller was good in the day of such fellers. But every thing has its day: we make fellers far different now.” Says I sarcasticly, givin' him quite a piercin' look, “I know they do: I've seen 'em.” “Yes, they make attachments now very different: yours is old-fashioned.”