s. And you're the same man that called out to me that
day, "Hoo-hoo! Hello, sweetheart!" and when I gave you a
piece of my mind, climbed down off the pole, and put your face
up to be slapped, God bless the boy in you----

A sharp little sound from him. Miss Kate looked up, quickly. Chet Ball
was staring at the beady-eyed yellow chicken in his hand.

"What's this thing?" he demanded in a strange voice.

Miss Kate answered him very quietly, trying to keep her own voice easy
and natural. "That's a toy chicken, cut out of wood."

"What'm I doin' with it?"

"You've just finished painting it."

Chet Ball held it in his great hand and stared at it for a brief
moment, struggling between anger and amusement. And between anger and
amusement he put it down on the table none too gently and stood up,
yawning a little.

"That's a hell of a job for a he-man!" Then in utter contrition: "Oh,
beggin' your pardon! That was fierce! I didn't----"

But there was nothing shocked about the expression on Miss Kate's face.
She was registering joy--pure joy.

The Maternal Feminine [1919]

Called upon to describe Aunt Sophy, you would have to coin a term or
fall back on the dictionary definition of a spinster. "An unmarried
woman," states that worthy work, baldly, "especially when no longer
young." That, to the world, was Sophy Decker. Unmarried, certainly.
And most certainly no longer young. In figure, she was, at fifty, what
is known in the corset ads as a "stylish stout." Well dressed in dark
suits, with broad-toed health shoes and a small, astute hat. The suit
was practical common sense. The health shoes were comfort. The hat
was strictly business. Sophy Decker made and sold hats, both astute
and ingenuous, to the female population of Chippewa, Wisconsin.
Chippewa's East End set bought the knowing type of hat, and the mill
hands and hired girls bought the naive ones. But whether lumpy or
possessed of that thing known as line, Sophy Decker's hats were honest
hats.

The world is full of Aunt Sophys, unsung. Plump, ruddy, capable women
of middle age. Unwed, and rather looked down upon by a family of
married sisters and tolerant, good-humored brothers-in-law, and
careless nieces and nephews.

"Poor Aunt Soph," with a significant half smile. "She's such a good
old thing. And she's had so little in life, really."

She was, undoubtedly, a good old thing--Aunt Soph. Forever sending a
model hat to t