"Ah!" José hastily put away his last dish and sat cross-legged on the
hearth at her feet, looking up into her face with impish interest. "How
did you manage him or her?"

"You can't manage a her no more'n you can manage a cat," bluntly. "You
can't make a cat useful, and you can't make it mind; but,"
significantly, "you can manage a dog and train him, too. I had to learn
that girl that'd corraled Jack that a pretty face and ruffled petticoats
may catch a man, but they can't always hold him."

"What can hold 'em?" interrupted Mrs. Thomas, sighing heavily. "Not
always vittles, and cert'ny not a loving heart."

Mrs. Nitschkan snapped her book impatiently. "Now, Marthy, don't you
stir me up with that talk of yours, like men was the only prize packages
in life. I can't see what these home-body women love to fool 'emselves
so for. You're just like my Celora, Marthy. 'Mommie,' she says to me
once, 'I wonder when the right man'll come along and learn me to love
him?' Well, I happened to be makin' a dog whip jus' when she spoke, and
I says, 'Celora, if you give me much of that talk I'll give you a
hidin', big as you are. You got your man all picked out right now, and
you mean to marry him whether he thinks so or not, and he can't get away
from you no more'n a cat can from a mouse.'"

"No more than I can from you," José sprang to his feet with light
agility and, leaning forward, made as if about to imprint a kiss upon
her forehead.

But he had reckoned without his host. Mrs. Nitschkan's arm shot out