"Mebbe you've got heart disease yourself, Sophia," remarked the farmer jocosely.
"Just as likely as not," answered Mrs. Wilson calmly. "I'm sure my liver's affected, for I feel it squirm sometimes."
"Mebbe I'd better look out for a second Mis' Wilson," suggested the farmer smiling.
"You ain't over healthy yourself, Silas," responded his better half, surveying her husband in a business-like manner. "It looks to me as if your kidneys was out of order, and you're the very image of Jed Pettibone, who died of apoplexy. He lived next door to my mother. One day he was alive and well, and to-morrow he was as the grass of the field."
The farmer's face wore a very uncomfortable look, and he was evidently by no means pleased with his wife's prognostications.
"Nonsense!" he said testily. "I'm as well as any man of my age in Lakeville."
"'Boast not thyself of to-morrow'!" quoted Mrs. Wilson solemnly.
"Come, Bert, let us set down to dinner," said Silas hastily. "What have you got for us, Sophia?"
"I've warmed over them beans we had yesterday," answered his helpmeet, "and there's two sausages besides. I don't want any. You'd ought to make a dinner off of that."
"Why, to be sure! Beans and sausages is hearty, and will stand by us in the field. The laborer is worthy of his meat."