ammy used to say to me, 'to hatch first
ain't always to crow last.'"

"Do you call it hatching or crowing to become president of the Union
Bank?"

"That depends. If you're shrewd and safe, as I think you are, it may
turn out to be both. It would be a good plan, though, to say to yourself
every time you come up Franklin Street, 'I've toted potatoes up this
hill, and not my own potatoes either.' It's good for you, sir, to
remember it, damned good."

"I'm not likely to forget it--they were heavy."

"It was the best thing that ever happened to you--it was the making of
you. There's nothing I know so good for a man as to be able to remember
that he toted somebody else's potatoes. Now, look at that George of
mine. He never toted a potato in his life--not even his own. If he had,
he might have been a bank president to-day instead of the pleasant,
well-dressed club-man he is, with a mustache like wax-work. I've an
idea, Ben, but don't let it get any farther, that he never got over not
having Sally, and that took the spirit out of him. She's well, ain't
she?"

"Yes, she's very well and more beautiful than ever."

"Hasn't developed any principles yet, eh? I always thought they were in
her."

"None that interfere with my comfort at any rate."

"Keep an eye on her and keep her occupied all the time. That's the way
to deal with a woman who has ideas--don't leave her a blessed minute to
sit down and hatch 'em out. Pet her, dress her, amuse her, and whenever
she begins to talk about a principle, step out and buy her a present to
take her mind off it. Anything no bigger than a thimble will turn a
woman's mind in the right direction if you spring it on her like a
surprise. Ah, that's the way her Aunt Matoaca ought to have been
treated. Poor Miss Matoaca, she went wrong for the want of a little
simple management like that. You never saw Miss Matoaca Bland when she
was a girl, Ben?"

"I have heard she was beautiful."

"Beautiful ain't the word, sir! I tell you the first time I ever saw her
she came to church in a white poke bonnet lined with cherry-coloured
silk, and her cheeks exactly a match to her bonnet lining." He got out
his big silk handkerchief, and blew his nose loudly, after which he
wiped his eyes, and sat staring moodily at his foot bandaged out of all
proportion to its natural size.

"Who'd have thought to look at her then," he pursued, "that she'd go
cracked over this Yankee abolition idea before she died."