on which he prided himself.

Short work, as Aunt Plumy soon showed him, for she rather enjoyed
freeing her mind at all times, and decidedly resented the insinuation
that country folk could not appreciate light literature as well as
city people.

"I ain't no great of a jedge about anything but nat'ralness of books,
and it really does seem as if some of your men and women was dreadful
uncomfortable creaters. 'Pears to me it ain't wise to be always
pickin' ourselves to pieces and pryin' into things that ought to
come gradual by way of experience and the visitations of Providence.
Flowers won't blow worth a cent ef you pull 'em open. Better wait and
see what they can do alone. I do relish the smart sayins, the odd ways
of furrin parts, and the sarcastic slaps at folkses weak spots. But
massy knows, we can't live on spice-cake and Charlotte Ruche, and I
do feel as if books was more sustainin' ef they was full of every-day
people and things, like good bread and butter. Them that goes to the
heart and ain't soon forgotten is the kind I hanker for. Mis Terry's
books now, and Mis Stowe's, and Dickens's Christmas pieces,--them is
real sweet and cheerin', to my mind."

As the blunt old lady paused it was evident she had produced a
sensation, for Saul smiled at the fire, Ruth looked dismayed at
this assault upon one of her idols, and the young ladies were both
astonished and amused at the keenness of the new critic who dared
express what they had often felt. Randal, however, was quite composed
and laughed good-naturedly, though secretly feeling as if a pail of
cold water had been poured over him.

"Many thanks, madam; you have discovered my weak point with surprising
accuracy. But you see I cannot help 'picking folks to pieces,' as you
have expressed it; that is my gift, and it has its attractions, as the
sale of my books will testify. People like the 'spice-bread,' and as
that is the only sort my oven will bake, I must keep on in order to
make my living."

"So rumsellers say, but it ain't a good trade to foller, and I'd chop
wood 'fore I'd earn my livin' harmin' my feller man. 'Pears to me I'd
let my oven cool a spell, and hunt up some homely, happy folks to
write about; folks that don't borrer trouble and go lookin' for holes
in their neighbors' coats, but take their lives brave and cheerful;
and rememberin' we are all human, have pity on the weak, and try to
be as full of mercy, patience and lovin' kindness as Him who mad