sech hearty appetites for trouble."

"Well, trouble may be born of a woman, but it generally manages
to take the shape of a man," observed Mrs. Spade from behind the
counter, where she was filling a big glass jar with a fresh
supply of striped peppermint candy. "And as far as that goes,
ever sence the Garden of Eden, men have taken a good deal mo'
pleasure in layin' the blame on thar wives than they do in layin'
blows on the devil. It's a fortunate woman that don't wake up the
day after the weddin' an' find she's married an Adam instid of a
man. However, they are as the Lord made 'em, I reckon," she
finished charitably, "which ain't so much to thar credit as it
sounds, seein' they could have done over sech a po' job with
precious little trouble."

"Oh, I warn't aimin' at you, Susan," Tom hastened to assure her,
aware from experience that he entered an argument only to be
worsted. "You've been a good wife to me, for all yo' sharp
tongue, an' I've never had to git up an' light the fire sence the
day I married you. Yes, you've been a first-rate wife to me, an'
no mistake."

"I'm the last person you need tell that to," was Mrs. Spade's
retort. "I don't reckon I've b'iled inside an' sweated outside
for mo' than twenty years without knowin' it. Lord! Lord! If it
took as hard work to be a Christian as it does to be a wife,
thar'd be mighty few but men in the next world--an' they'd git
thar jest by followin' like sheep arter Adam--"

"I declar', Susan, I didn't mean to rile you," urged Tom,