Where'll it be by the middle of summer?
Just stop and fancy a moment--just think a little--don't anything suggest itself?
Bless your heart, you dear women live right in the present all the time--but a man, why a man lives---- "In the future, Beriah?
But don't we live in the future most too much, Beriah?
We do somehow seem to manage to live on next year's crop of corn and potatoes as a general thing while this year is still dragging along, but sometimes it's not a robust diet,--Beriah.

But don't look that way, dear--don't mind what I say.

I don't mean to fret, I don't mean to worry; and I don't, once a month, do I, dear?
But when I get a little low and feel bad, I get a bit troubled and worrisome, but it don't mean anything in the world.

It passes right away.

I know you're doing all you can, and I don't want to seem repining and ungrateful--for I'm not, Beriah--you know I'm not, don't you ?" "Lord bless you, child, I know you are the very best little woman that ever lived--that ever lived on the whole face of the Earth! And I know that I would be a dog not to work for you and think for you and scheme for you with all my might.