t year and the mortgage wasn't but a few hundred
dollars, what we soon paid. We've been going up ever since. Tom reminds
me of a kite, and I must make out to play tail for him until I can pick
him out a wife."

"Have you thought of anybody in particular?" asked the lovely lady
without raising her eyes from her work. She had commenced operations on
the blue sock unnoticed by Mother, who was taken up in the unfolding of
her tale.

"Not yet," answered she cheerfully. "I mustn't hurry. Marrying ain't no
one-day summer junket, but a year round march and the woman to raise
the hymn tune. I take it that after a mother have builded up a man, she
oughter see to it that he's capped off fine with a wife, and then she
can forget all about him. I've got my eyes open about Tom and I'm going
to begin to hunt around soon."

"I wonder just what kind of a wife you--you will select for him,"
murmured Miss Wingate with her eyes still on the sock, which she was
industriously sewing up into a tight knot on the left side of the heel.

"Well, a man oughter marry mostly for good looks and gumption; the
looks to keep him from knowing when the gumption is being used on him.
Tom's so say-nothing and shy with women folks that he won't be no hard
proposition for nobody. But with that way of his'n I'm afraid of his
being spoiled some. I have to be real stern with myself to keep from
being foolish over him."

"But you want his wife to--to love him, don't you?" asked Miss Wingate,
as she raised very large and frankly questioning eyes to Mother
Mayberry, who was snipping loose threads from her completed task.

"Oh she'll do that and no trouble! But a man oughter be allowed to
sense his wife have got plenty of love and affection preserved, only he
don't know where she keeps the jar at. As I say, I don't want Tom
Mayberry spoiled. What did I do with that other sock?" And Mother began
to hunt in her darning bag, in her lap and on the floor.

"Here it is," answered Miss Wingate as she blushed guiltily. "I--darned
it." And she handed her handiwork over to Mother Mayberry with
trepidation in voice and expression.

"Well, now," said Mother, as she inspected the tight little wad on the
blue heel. "It was right down kind of you to turn to and help me like
this, but, honey-bird, Tom Mayberry would walk like a hop toad after
he'd done got it on. You have drawn it bad. I don't know no better time
to learn you how to darn your husband's socks than right now