"I don't know," said Maggie, "I don't like her very much; I like you a great deal better than I do her; I think you are a very nice man, Mr. Jones."
"I guess I'm about of the same opinion about you," said Mr. Jones; "but what is the reason you don't like Mrs. Jones?"
"Oh," said Maggie, "because she—she—does things. She makes me just as mad as a hop."
"What things?"
"She goes and has trundle-beds," said Maggie.
Mr. Jones laughed out now as he said, "Oh, you haven't got over that trouble yet, eh? Well, what else does she do?"
"She said we could spare our baby, and we couldn't," said Maggie, angrily; "and she didn't want you to go send the message for our own doctor. I think she ought to be ashamed."
"She didn't mean it," said Mr. Jones, coaxingly.
"People ought not to say things they don't mean," said Maggie.