hole place that don't look
smart enough to run a farm all alone by himself. And money--well, he
don't ask no credit of no man: he just hauls out his money and pays up,
as if he enjoyed gettin' rid of it. There's nobody like him in these
parts, you can just bet your life."

The speaker was a Southern Illinoisan of twenty-five years ago, and his
only auditor was a brother farmer.

Both worked hard and shook often (with ague) between the seed time and
harvest, but neither had succeeded in amassing such comfortable results
as had seemed to reward the efforts of their neighbor Matalette. For the
listener had not heard half the story of Matalette's advantages. He was
as good-natured, smart and hospitable as he was lucky. He indulged in
the unusual extravagance of a hired cook; and the neighbors, though
they, on principle, disapproved of such expenditure, never failed to
appreciate the results of the said cook's labors.

Matalette had a sideboard, too, and the contents smelled and tasted
very unlike the liquor which was sold at the only store in Bonpas
Bottoms.

When young Lauquer, who was making a gallant fight against a stumpy
quarter section, had his only horse lie down and die just as the second
corn-plowing season came on, it was Matalette who supplied the money
which bought the new horse.

When the inhabitants of the Bottoms wondered and talked and argued about
the advisability of trying some new seed-wheat, which had the reputation
of being very heavy, Matalette settled the whole question by ordering a
large lot, and distributing it with his compliments.

Lastly--though the statement has not, strictly speaking, any
agricultural bearing--Matalette had a daughter. There were plenty of
daughters among the families in Bonpas Bottoms, and many of them were
very estimable girls; but Helen Matalette was very different from any of
them.

"Always knows just what to say and do," remarked Syle-Conover, one day,
at the store, where the male gossips of the neighborhood met to exchange
views. "A fellow goes up to see Matalette--goes in his shirt-sleeves,
not expectin' to see any women around--when who comes to the door but
_her_. For a minute a fellow wishes he could fly, or sink; next minute
he feels as if he'd been acquainted with her for a year. Hanged if I
understand it, but she's the kind of gal I go in fur!"

The latter clause of Syle's speech fitly expressed the sentiments of all
the young men in Bonpas Bottoms, as w