for he was near daft over the gal."

"Well, he was right," admitted Matthew, after reflection. "Why,
the gal sins so free an' easy you might almost fancy her a man."

He drew back, coughing, for Jim came in with a long green log and
laid it on the smouldering fire, which glowed crimson under the
heavy smoke.

"Here's Sol," said the young man, settling the log with his foot.
"I told him you were on your way to the house, pa, but he said he
had only a minute, so he came out here."

"Oh, I've jest been to borrow some Jamaica ginger from Mrs.
Weatherby," explained Sol Peterkin, carefully closing the shutter
after his entrance.

"My wife's took so bad that I'm beginnin' to fear she'll turn out
as po' a bargain as the last. It's my luck--I always knew I was
ill-fated--but, Lord a-mercy, how's a man goin' to tell the state
of a woman's innards from the way she looks on top? All the
huggin' in the world won't make her wink an eyelash, an' then
there'll crop out heart disease or dropsy befo' the year is up.
When I think of the trouble I had pickin' that thar woman it
makes me downright sick. It ain't much matter about the colour or
the shape, I said--a freckled face an' a scrawny waist I kin
stand--only let it be the quality that wears. If you believe it,
suh, I chose the very ugliest I could find, thinkin' that the
Lord might be mo' willin' to overlook her--an' now this is what's
come of it. She's my fourth, too, an' I'll begin to be a joke