“Halt one minute!” Pole called out peremptorily, and there was silence. “Now,” he continued, “all of you set down on the straw an’ listen to my new rules. I’ve been studyin’ these out ever since my last shuckin’, an’ these will beat all. Now, listen! Time is a great improver, an’ we-all don’t have to shuck corn jest like our granddaddies did. I want to make this thing interest you, fer that pile o’ corn has to be shucked an’ throwed into the barn ’fore you leave yo’r places.” “Well, I wouldn’t preach a sermon fust,” laughed Mrs. Baker as she appeared suddenly. “Boys an’ gals that git together fer a good time don’t want to listen to an old married man talk.” “But one married man likes to listen to _that woman_ talk, folks,” Pole broke in, “fer her voice makes sweet music to his ear. That’s a fact, gentlemen an’ ladies; here’s one individual that could set an’ listen to that sweet woman’s patient voice from dark to sunup, an’ then pray fer more dark an’ more talk. I hain’t the right sort of a man to yoke to, but she is the right sort of a woman. They hain’t all that way, though, boys, an’ I’d advise you that are worthy of a good helpmeet to think an’ look before you plunge into matrimony. Matrimony is like ice, which, until you bust it, may cover pure, runnin’ water or a stagnant mud-hole. Before marriage a woman will say yes an’ no as meek as that entire bunch of females. Sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but when she hooks her fish she’ll do her best to make a sucker out’n it ef it’s a brook trout at the start. I mean a certain _kind_ of a woman now, but, thank the Lord, He made the other sort, too, an’ the other sort, boys, is what you ort to look fer. I heard a desperate old bach say once that he believed he’d stand a better chance o’ gettin’ a good female nature under a homely exterior than under a pretty one, an’ he was on the rampage fer a snaggle tooth; but I don’t know. A nature that’s made jest by a face won’t endure one way or another long. Thar’s my little neighbor over thar; ef she don’t combine both a purty face an’ a sweet, patient nature I’m no judge.” “Hush, Pole; Cynthia don’t want you to single her out in public that a-way,” protested Mrs. Baker. “He’s simply bent on flattering more work out of me,” responded Cynthia, quite adroitly, Floyd thought, as he noted her blushes in the moonlight. “We are waiting for your rules, Mr. Baker.” “Yes,” spoke up Floyd, “give us the rules, and let us go to work, and then you can talk all you want to.”