“Then I yelled fer help. One o’ the weemen come out. I was that mad I most swore, but she jest laughed an’ poked some more wood on the fire an’ sayd ef I didn’t push the stick livelier the kittle’d burn. The fire blazed up hotter an’ hotter, an’ it seemed like me clothes ’ud begin to smoke at any minute. Me arms an’ legs was achin’ more’n more. Me back was ’most broke from me tryin’ to lean ’way from the heat. Me neck was ’most twisted off be me ’temptin’ to keep the blaze from blindin’ me. It come four o’clock an’ I yelled fer help agin. “The Missus stuck her head outen the windy an’ called, ‘Don’t you let that kittle burn!’ “I was desp’rate, but I kep’ stirrin’ an’ stirrin’. It come sundown an’ begin to git darker an’ darker, an’ the butter got thicker an’ thicker, but I knowd be the feel that they was a couple o’ hours yit. I begin to think o’ lettin’ the ole thing drop an’ Abe Scissors’ kittle burn, fer I held he didn’t hev no business to lend it to me ’hen he knowd well enough it ’ud spoil ef I ever quit stirrin’. Oncet I was fer lettin’ go an’ slippin’ over here to the store, fer I heard several o’ the fellys drive up an’ hitch an’ the door bang shet. But ’hen I tried to drop the stick I jest couldn’t. Me fingers seemed to think it wasn’t right an’ held to the pole, an’ me arms kep’ on pushin’ an’ pushin’ tho’ every motion give me an ache. I jest didn’t dast, so kep’ stirrin’ an’ stirrin’ an’ stirrin’, an’ thinkin’ an’ thinkin’ an’ thinkin’, an’ wond’rin’ who was over here an’ what was doin’. An’ ez I kep’ pushin’ an’ pushin’, an’ thinkin’ an’ thinkin’, I clean forgot meself an’ all about the apple-butter. “I come to with a jump fer some un hed me be the beard. ’Hen I looked up I seen the Missus an’ her weemen frien’s standin’ ’round me gestickelatin’. The Missus was wavin’ what was left o’ the stirrer. It was jest ’bout half ez long ez ’hen I begin with it, fer the cross piece that runs down into the butter an’ ’bout half the han’le was burned off. Seems I’d got the ole thing clean outen the kittle an’ hed ben stirrin’ it ’round the fire.” “Reflex action,” suggested the Teacher. “The butter was fairly smokin’. An’ the kittle! Well, say, ef that there wasn’t jest ez black on the inside ez ef if was iron ’stead o’ copper. An’ the weemen! Mebbe it was reflect actin’ they done, ez the teacher sais, but whatever it was it skeered me considerable. But final I seen how funny it was, how the joke was on the Missus who’d loss all her apple-butter, ’stead o’ on me, an’ how I’d got square with Abe Scissors fer lendin’ me his copper kittle ’hen he knowd it ’ud burn ef I ever stopped stirrin’. An’ I jest laughed.” The Loafer straightened up in his chair and began to rock violently to and fro and to chuckle. The Farmer arose and walked around the stove. “What fer a kittle was that?” he asked in a low, pleasant tone. “Was they a big S stamped on the inside next the rim?”