for a jar, and tells the servant to unscrew the top, and pour the fruit
into a dish. The girl brings it into the kitchen, and proceeds to unscrew
the top. She works gently at first, then gets mad, wrenches at it, sprains
her wrist, and begins to cry, with her nose on the underside of her apron,
and skins her nose on the dried pancake batter that is hidden in the folds
of the apron.

Then the little house-wife takes hold of the fruit can, smilingly, and
says she will show the girl how to take off the top. She sits down on the
wood-box, takes the glass jar between her knees, runs out her tongue, and
twists. But the cover does not twist. The cover seems to feel as though it
was placed there to keep guard over that fruit, and it is as immovable as
the Egyptian pyramids. The little lady works until she is red in the face,
and until her crimps all come down, and then she sets it away to wait for
the old man to come home. He comes in tired, disgusted, and mad as a
hornet, and when the case is laid before him, he goes out in the kitchen,
pulls off his coat and takes the jar.

He remarks that he is at a loss to know what women are made for,
anyway. He says they are all right to sit around and do crochet work, but
when strategy, brain, and muscle are required, then they can't get along
without a man. He tries to unscrew the cover, and his thumb slips off and
knocks the skin off the knuckle. He breathes a silent prayer and calls for
the kerosene can, and pours a little oil into the crevice, and lets it
soak, and then he tries again, and swears audibly.

[Illustration: THE OLD MAN TRIES HIS HAND.]

Then he calls for a tack-hammer, and taps the cover gently on one side,
the glass jar breaks, and the juice runs down his trousers leg, on the