"I'd like to go to meetin' wid dese boots," remarked her spouse, looking down at the immense pair into which he had squeezed his feet.
"Ef you did, all I can say is, dar' wouldn' be no room fer anybody else dar'," returned Pallas, giving way, by mere force of habit, to her custom of snubbing her companion.
"Wha' fer?" inquired Saturn.
"No matter, ef yer don't know. My! my!"—hopelessly—"what a fool you is!"
"Dat's so, wife;" was the humble reply, "but," picking up courage at the sight of his new rig, "mebbe when I get my new jacket on, I'll know more."
"You'd bettar put it on quick, den, and nebbar take it off."
When her dishes were washed, Pallas took the calico in her lap and sat down.
"I've a sense," she said, in a low voice, "dat things is goin' to happen."
"Wha' fer?"
"I haven't had such a sense fer years," she continued, too preoccupied to administer her customary rebuke. "And when I've a sense, it allers comes to suthin'—it never fails. I haven't had such feelin's since missus died. 'Pears to me dat young gentleum looks like missus' family. And it's de same name—curus, isn't it?"