bachelor man.' How long have you
been married, now?"

"I don't know," said the Philosopher. "Maybe it's ten years."

"And how many children would you have, mister?"

"Two," he replied, and then corrected himself, "No, I have only one."

"Is the other one dead?"

"I never had more than one."

"Ten years married and only one child," said she. "Why, man dear, you're
not a married man. What were you doing at all, at all! I wouldn't like
to be telling you the children I have living and dead. But what I say is
that married or not you're a bachelor man. I knew it the minute I looked
at you. What sort of a woman is herself?"

"She's a thin sort of woman," cried the Philosopher, biting into his
cake.

"Is she now?"

"And," the Philosopher continued, "the reason I talked to you is because
you are a fat woman."

"I am not fat," was her angry response.

"You are fat," insisted the Philosopher, "and that's the reason I like
you."

"Oh, if you mean it that way..." she chuckled.

"I think," he continued, looking at her admiringly, "that women ought to
be fat."

"Tell you the truth," said she eagerly, "I think that myself. I never
met a thin woman but she was a sour one, and I never met a fat man but
he was a fool. Fat women and thin men; it's nature," said she.

"It is," said he, and he leaned forward and kissed her eye.

"Oh, you villain!" said the woman, putting out her hands against him.

The Philosopher drew back abashed. "Forgive me," he began, "if I have
alarmed your virtue--"

"It's the married man's word," said she, rising hastily: "now I know
you; but there's a lot of the bachelor in you all the same, God help
you! I'm going home." And, so saying, she dipped her vessel in the well
and turned away.

"Maybe," said the Philosopher, "I ought to wait until your husband comes
home and ask his forgiveness for the wrong I've done him."

The woman turned round on him and each of her eyes was as big as a
plate.

"What do you say?" said she. "Follow me if you dare and I'll set the dog
on you; I will so," and she strode viciously homewards.

After a moment's hesitation the Philosopher took his own path across the
hill.

The day was now well advanced, and as he trudged forward the happy
quietude of his surroundings stole into his heart again and so toned
down his recollection of the fat woman that in a little time she was
no more than a pleasant and curious memory. His mind was exercised
superficially, not