e
seated," there arose, in muffled tones at first, and then with
distressing distinctness, a sound of sobbing. It made the old man turn
on his pillow even while he slept, for it was the voice of a woman, and
he was tender of heart. It seemed in the dream and yet not of it--this
awful, suppressed sobbing that disturbed his slumber, but was not quite
strong enough to break it. But presently, instead of the muffled sob,
there came a cumulative outburst, like that of a too hard-pressed
turkey-gobbler forced to the wall. He thought it was the old black
gobbler at first, and he even said, "Shoo," as he sprang from his bed.
But a repetition of the sound sent him bounding through the open door
into the dining-room, dazed and trembling.

Seated beside the dining-table there, with her head buried in her arms,
sat his little wife. Before her, ranged in line upon the table, stood
the silver water-set--her present to him. He was beside her in a
moment--leaning over her, his arms about her shoulders.

"Why, honey," he exclaimed, "what on earth--"

At this she only cried the louder. There was no further need for
restraint. The old man scratched his head. He was very much distressed.

"Why, honey," he repeated, "tell its old man all about it. Didn't it
like the purty pitcher thet its old husband bought for it? Was it too
big--or too little--or too heavy for it to tote all the way out here
from that high mantel? Why didn't it wake up its lazy ol' man and make
him pack it out here for it?"

It was no use. She was crying louder than ever. He did not know what to
do. He began to be cold and he saw that she was shivering. There was no
fire in the dining-room. He must do something. "Tell its old man what it
would 'a' ruther had," he whispered in her ear, "jest tell him, ef it
don't like its pitcher--"

At this she made several efforts to speak, her voice breaking in real
turkey-gobbler sobs each time, but finally she managed to wail:

"It ain't m-m-m-mi-i-i-ne!"

"Not yours! Why, honey. What can she mean? Did it think I bought it for
anybody else? Ain't yours! Well, I like that. Lemme fetch that lamp over
here till you read the writin' on the side of it, an' I'll show you
whose it is." He brought the lamp.

"Read that, now. Why, honey! Wh--wh--wh--what in thunder an' lightnin'!
They've done gone an' reversed it. The fool's put my name first--'
Ephraim N. Trimble. From--his--'

"Why, Jerusalem jinger!

"No wonder she thought I w