"I wonder just what kind of a wife you--you will select for him,"
murmured Miss Wingate with her eyes still on the sock, which she was
industriously sewing up into a tight knot on the left side of the
heel.

"Well, a man oughter marry mostly for good looks and gumption; the
looks to keep him from knowing when the gumption is being used on
him. Tom's so say-nothing and shy with women folks that he won't be
no hard proposition for nobody. But with that way of his'n I'm
afraid of his being spoiled some. I have to be real stern with
myself to keep from being foolish over him."

"But you want his wife to--to love him, don't you?" asked Miss
Wingate, as she raised very large and frankly questioning eyes to
Mother Mayberry, who was snipping loose threads from her completed
task.

"Oh she'll do that and no trouble! But a man oughter be allowed to
sense his wife have got plenty of love and affection preserved, only
he don't know where she keeps the jar at. As I say, I don't want Tom
Mayberry spoiled. What did I do with that other sock?" And Mother
began to hunt in her darning bag, in her lap and on the floor.

"Here it is," answered Miss Wingate as she blushed guiltily. "I--
darned it." And she handed her handiwork over to Mother Mayberry
with trepidation in voice and expression.

"Well, now," said Mother, as she inspected the tight little wad on
the blue heel. "It was right down kind of you to turn to and help me