"They ain't no reason for it, Mister Kingsley--Bud cyant sho' the rappin' of yo' finger fur havin' sech spells along towards the full of the moon. Bud cyant tell you why, Mister Kingsley, to save his soul--'cept that he jes' thinks he's got to do it an' put me to the expense of bustin' crockery. "I stood it mighty nigh two years arter Bud and me was spliced, thinkin' maybe it war ther bed-bugs a-bitin' Bud, long towards the full of the moon. So I watched that pint an' killed 'em all long towards the first quarter with quicksilver an' the white of an egg. Wal, Bud never sed a word all that month. He never opened his mouth an' he acted jes' lak a puf'fec' gentleman an' a dutiful dotin' husband--(Bud wiped away a tear)--until the time come for the fool spell to hit 'im, an 'all to once you never seed sech a fool spell hit a man befo'. "What you reckin' Bud done, Mister Kingsley? Bud Billins thar, what did he do? Got mad about his biscuits--it's the funny way the fool spell allers hits him, he never gits mad about anything but his biscuits. Why I cud feed Bud on dynamite an' he'd take it all right if he cu'd eat it along with his biscuits. Onct I put concentrated lye in his coffee by mistake. I'd never knowed it if the pup hadn't got some of it by mistake an' rolled over an' died in agony. I rushed to the mill thinkin' Bud ud' be dead, sho'--but he wa'nt. He never noticed it. I noticed his whiskers an' eyebrows was singed off an' questioned 'im 'bout it and he 'lowed he felt sorter quare arter he drunk his coffee, an' full like, an' he belched an' it sot his whiskers an' eyebrows a-fiah, which ther same kinder puzzled him fur a while; but it must be biscuits to make him raise cain. It happened at the breakfas' table. Mind you, Mister Kingsley, Bud didn't say it to my face--no, he never says anything to my face--but he gits up an' picks up the cat an' tells ther cat what he thinks of me--his own spliced an' wedded wife--sland'in' me to the cat." She shook her finger in his face--"You know you did, Bud Billins--an' what you reckin he told ther cat, Mister Kingsley--told her I was a--a--" She gasped--she clinched her fist. Bud dodged an' tried to break away. "Told him I was a--a--heifer!" Bud looked sheepishly around--he tried even to run, but Jud Carpenter held him fast. She shook her finger in his face. "I heard you say it, Bud Billins, you know I did an' I busted a plate over yo' head." "But, my dear Madam," said Kingsley, "that was no reason to treat him so badly." "Oh, it wa'nt?" she shrieked--"to tattle-tale to the house-cat about yo' own spliced an' wedded wife? In her own home an' yard--her that you've sworn to love an' cherish agin bed an' board--ter call her a heifer?" She slipped her hand under her apron and produced a deadly looking blue plate of thick cheap ware. Her eyes blazed, her voice became husky with anger. "An' you don't think that was nothin'?" she shrieked.