"here, get your needle and thread, and you can have it all right in
a minute. It's but a trifle--I'm sure I havn't thought about it
since I put on the shirt this morning."

But all would not do--Mrs. Jones' grief was too real; and when I,
losing to some extent, my patience, said fretfully, "I wish somebody
would invent a shirt without buttons," she sighed deeply, and in a
little while I saw her handkerchief go quietly to her eyes. Again
and again I tried the say-nothing plane; but it worked worse, if any
thing, than the other; for Mrs. Jones was sure to find out the
truth, and then she would be dreadfully hurt about my omission to
speak.

And so the years have passed. Sometimes I fret a little when I find
a shirt button off; sometimes I ask mildly to have the omission
supplied when I discover its existence; sometimes I jest about it,
and sometimes I bear the evil in silence. But the effects produced
upon Mrs. Jones are about the same. Her equanimity of mind is
disturbed, and she will look unhappy for hours. Never but once have
I complained without a cause. But that one instance gave Mrs. Jones
a triumph which has done much to sustain her in all her subsequent
trials.

We had some friends staying with us, and among the various matters
of discussion that came up during the social evenings we spent
together, shirt buttons were, on one occasion, conspicuous. To
record all that was said about them would fill pages, and I will
not, therefore, attempt even a brief record of all the allegations
brought against the useful little shirt button. The final decision
was, that it must be the Apple of Discord in disguise.