in a low, sweet, earnest voice:

"Mother always says, if she cannot see any one who calls, that she
is engaged."

"And so do I, dear," I returned. "This is my first offence against
truth, and you may be sure that it will be the last."

And it was my last.

When next I met Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Glenn, there was, in both of
them, a reserve not seen before. I felt this change keenly. I had
wronged myself in their good opinion; and could not venture upon an
explanation of my conduct; for that, I felt, might only make matters
worse.

How often, since, has my cheek burned, as a vivid recollection came
up before my mind of what occurred on that morning! I can never
forget it.

CHAPTER X.

SHIRT BUTTONS.

IN a previous chapter, I gave the reader one of the Experiences of
my sister's husband, Mr. John Jones. I now give another.

There was a time in my married life, (thus Mr. Jones writes, in one
of _his_ "Confessions,") when I was less annoyed if my bosom or
wristband happened to be minus a button, than I am at present. But
continual dropping will wear away a stone, and the ever recurring
buttonless collar or wristband will wear out a man's patience, be he
naturally as enduring as the Man Of Uz.

I don't mean by this, that Mrs. Jones is a neglectful woman. Oh, no!
don't let that be imagined for a moment. Mrs. Jones is a woman who
has an eye for shirt buttons, and when that is said, a volume is
told in a few words.

But I don't care how careful a wife is, nor how good an eye she may
have for shirt buttons, there will come a time, when, from some
cause or other, she will momentarily abate her vigilance, and that
will be the very time when Betty's washing-board, or Nancy's
sad-iron, has been at work upon the buttons.

For a year or two after our marriage, I used to express impatience,
whenever, in putting on a clean shirt, I found a button gone. Mrs.
Jones, bore this for a while without exhibiting much feeling. But it
fretted her more than she permitted any one to see. At length, the
constant recurrence of the evil--I didn't know as much then as I do
now--annoyed me so that I passed from ejaculatory expressions of
impatience into more decided and emphatic disapprobation, and to
"Psha!" and "there it is again!" and the like were added:

"I declare, Mrs. Jones, this is too bad!" or

"I've given up hoping for a shirt with a full complement of
buttons--" or

"If you can't sew the buttons on my shirt, Mrs