'hain't an' 'ain't, was what Katy hated most of anythin'."

"Yes; Jim mentioned 'em, too," acknowledged Nathan gloomily. "But he
said that even them wan't half so bad as his riggin' up nights. He said
that Katy said that after the 'toil of the day' they must 'don fresh
garments an' come ter the evenin' meal with minds an' bodies
refreshed.'"

"Yes; an', Nathan, ain't my black silk--"

"Ahem! I'm a-thinkin' it wa'n't me that said 'ain't' that time,"
interposed Nathan.

"Dear, dear, Nathan!--did I? Oh, dear, what will Alma say?"

"It don't make no diff'rence what Alma says, Mary. Don't ye fret,"
returned the man with sudden sharpness, as he rose to his feet. "I guess
Alma'll have ter take us 'bout as we be--'bout as we be."

Yet it was Nathan who asked, just as his wife was dropping off to sleep
that night:--

"Mary, is it three o' them collars I've got, or four?--b'iled ones, I
mean."

At five o'clock the next afternoon Mrs. Kelsey put on the treasured
black silk dress, sacred for a dozen years to church, weddings, and
funerals. Nathan, warm and uncomfortable in his Sunday suit and stiff
collar, had long since driven to the station for Alma. The house,
brushed and scrubbed into a state of speckless order, was thrown wide