relied upon in these matters.

"It's hot enough to melt the belly out of my fiddle," said Johnny Mears
to his wife, who sat on a three-legged stool by the rough table in the
little whitewashed "end-room", putting a patch of patches over the seat
of a pair of moleskin knickerbockers. He lit his pipe, moved a stool
to the side of the great empty fireplace, where it looked cooler--might
have been cooler on account of a possible draught suggested by the
presence of the chimney, and where, therefore, he felt a breath
cooler. He took his fiddle from a convenient shelf, tuned it slowly and
carefully, holding his pipe (in his mouth) well up and to one side, as
if the fiddle were an inquisitive and restless baby. He played "Little
Drops o' Brandy" three times, right through, without variations,
blinking solemnly the while; then he put the violin carefully back in
its box, and started to cut up another pipeful.

"You should have gone, Johnny," said the haggard little woman.

"Rackin' the horse out a night like this," retorted Johnny, "and
startin' ploughin' to-morrow. It ain't worth while. Let them come for me
if they want me. Dance on a night like this! Why! they'll dance in----"

"But you promised. It won't do you no good, Johnny."

"It won't do me no harm."

The little woman went on stitching.

"It's smotherin' hot," said Johnny, with an impatient oath. "I don't
know whether I'll turn in, or turn out, under the shed to-night. It's
too d----d hot to roost indoors."

She bent her head lower over the patch. One smoked and the other
stitched in silence for twenty minutes or so, during which time Johnny
might be supposed to have been deliberating listlessly as to whether
he'd camp out on account of the heat, or turn in. But he broke the
silence with a clout at a mosquito on the nape of his neck, and a bad
word.

"I wish you wouldn't swear so much, Johnny," she said wearily--"at least
not to-night."

He looked at her blankly.

"Why--why to-night? What's the matter with you to-night, Mary? What's
to-night more than any other night to you? I see no harm--can't a man
swear when a mosquito sticks him?"

"I--I was only thinking of the boys, Johnny."

"The boys! Why, they're both on the hay in the shed." He stared at
her again, shifted uneasily, crossed the other leg tightly, frowned,
blinked, and reached for the matches. "You look a bit off-colour, Mary.
It's the heat that makes us all a bit ratty at times. Better put th