“Say, John, that’s better than any roof.”
“Er—what?” asked John, whose wits were often left behind by his wife’s.
She came close and shouted in his ear:
“Joy!”
“Oh!” said John, patting her pretty hair.
She slipped her arm about him. And then her voice was very soft and loving.
“And our five boys! Such boys! Where is there another such five! If we should get old—if we should need a roof—why, John—there are our five handsome boys!”
She cried a little, and John asked her for the thousandth time why she did it.
“Why does a woman cry? For joy and sorrow—life and death—good and evil!”
“Oh!” said John, once more.