so ez to make a sort o'
side entrance to the house, an' we could set one of 'em in _it_. It
would make the pitcher come a little high, of co'se, but it would set
off that side o' the house lovely, an' ef you say so--

"Lemme go git 'em all out here together."

As he trudged in presently loaded up with the duplicate set he said, "I
wonder ef you know what time it is, wife?"

She glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall.

"Don't look at that. It's six o'clock last night by that. I forgot to
wind her up. No. It's half-past three o'clock--that's all it is." By
this time he had placed his water-set beside hers upon the table. "Why,
honey," he exclaimed, "where on earth? I don't see a sign of a'
inscription on this--an' what is this paper in the spout? Here, you read
it, wife, I ain't got my specs."

"'Too busy to mark to-day--send back after Christmas--sorry.

ROWTON.'"

"Why, it--an' here's another paper. What can this be, I wonder?"

"'To my darling wife, from her affectionate husband.'"

The little wife colored as she read it.

"Oh, that ain't nothin' but the motter he was to print on it. But ain't
it lucky thet he didn't do it? I'll change it--that's what I'll do--for
anything you say. There, now. Don't that fix it?"

She was very still for a moment--very thoughtful. "An' affectionate is a
mighty expensive word, too," she said, slowly, glancing over the
intended inscription, in her husband's handwriting. "Yes. Your pitcher
don't stand for a thing but generosity--an' mine don't mean a thing but
selfishness. Yes, take it back, cert'nly, that is ef you'll get me
anything I want for it. Will you?"

"Shore. They's a cow-topped butter-dish an' no end o' purty little
things out there you might like. An' ef it's goin' back, it better be
a-goin'. I can ride out to town an' back befo' breakfast. Come, kiss me,
wife."

She threw both arms around her old husband's neck, and kissed him on one
cheek and then on the other. Then she kissed his lips. And then, as she
went for pen and paper, she said: "Hurry, now, an' hitch up, an' I'll be
writin' down what I want in exchange--an' you can put it in yo' pocket."

In a surprisingly short time the old man was on his way--a heaped basket
beside him, a tiny bit of writing in his pocket. When he had turned into
the road he drew rein for a moment, lit a match, and this is what he
read:

"MY DEAR HUSBAND,--I want one silver-mounted brier-wood pipe and