“Well, I don’t know,” answered the major in a judicial tone of voice.  “You wouldn’t have them neglect him, would you?”

“Well, what about me?” demanded David dolefully.  “I haven’t any green eyes, ’cause I’m trusting Andy, not Phoebe; but neglect is just withering my leaves.  I haven’t seen her alone for two weeks.  She is always over there with Mrs. Matilda and the rest ’soothing the fevered brow.’  Say, Major, give Mrs. Matilda the hint.  The chump isn’t really sick any more.  Hint that a little less—­”

“David, sir,” interrupted the major, “it takes more than a hint to stop a woman when she takes a notion to nurse an attractive man, a sick lion one at that.  And depend upon it, it is the poetry that makes them hover him, not the ribs.”

“Well, you just stop her and that’ll stop them,” said David wrathfully.

“David Kildare,” answered the major dryly, “I’ve been married to her nearly forty years and I’ve never stopped her doing anything yet.  Stopping a wife is one of the bride-notions a man had better give up early in the matrimonial state—­if he expects to hold the bride.  And bride-holding ought to be the life-job of a man who is rash enough to undertake one.”

“Do you think Phoebe and bride will ever rhyme together, Major?” asked David in a tone of deepest depression.  “I can’t seem to hear them ever jingle.”

“Yes, Dave, the Almighty will meter it out to her some day, and I hope He will help you when He does.  I can’t manage my wife.  She’s a modern woman.  Now, what are we going to do about them?” and the major smiled quizzically at the perturbed young man standing on the rug in front of the fire.

“Well,” answered Kildare with a spark in his eyes, as he flecked a bit of mud from his boots which were splashed from his morning ride, “when I get Phoebe Donelson, I’m going to whip her!” And very broad and tall and strong was young David but not in the least formidable as to expression.

“Dave, my boy,” answered the major in a tone of the deepest respect, “I hope you will do it, if you get the chance; but you won’t!  Thirty-eight years ago last summer I felt the same way, but I’ve had a long time to make up my mind to it; and I haven’t done it yet.”

“Anyway,” rejoined his victim, “there’s just this to it; she has got to accept me kindly, affectionately and in a ladylike manner or I’m going to be the villain and make some sort of a rough house to frighten her into it.”

“David,” said the major with emphasis, “don’t count on frightening a woman into a compliance in an affair of the affections.  Don’t you know they will risk having their hearts suspended on a hair-line between heaven and hell and enjoy it?  Now, my wife—­”

“Oh, Mrs. Matilda never could have been like that,” interrupted David miserably.

“Boy,” answered the major solemnly, “if I were to give you a succinct account of the writhings of my soul one summer over a California man, the agony you are enduring would seem the extremity of insignificance.”