"Just you mind," said his wife, warningly. "Why, Miss Hilton, whatever's
the matter?" she added, catching sight of Anne's face.

"It is such a painful story," rejoined Anne. "I cannot bear to think of
the poor young man's discomfiture."

"Well, I never!" ejaculated the farmer, as they drove away. "She's very
good, but, my word, she's very peculiar."

"If she was _really_ very good she'd try not to _be_ so peculiar,"
retorted his wife, nettled at the failure of her story. "Did you ever
see such a figure, with her dress all unbuttoned at the back showing her
stays."

"She's not got a husband to fasten the middle buttons," said the farmer
slyly. "She can't very well ask the pig, you know."

"Well, no, she can't," said his wife, good-naturedly; "but she tries my
patience pretty often."

"That's not so hard as it sounds," said the farmer, looking innocently
in front of him.

"Now, then," said his wife, "who wanted a potato-pie for supper?"

"I expect it was our Joseph," said the farmer.

"Not it," retorted his wife.