“I reckon he could even stand that,” observed Mr. Shrimplin unfeelingly.  “I bet he never knowed ’em apart.”

“Why he was just wrapped up in them and me,—­just wrapped up!” cried Mrs. Montgomery.

“Well, he had a blame curious way of showing it; no one would ever have suspected it of him!” said Mr. Shrimplin.

“I guess this wouldn’t have happened if his own folks had had more faith in Joe, that’s what wore on him,—­I seen it wear on him!” declared Mrs. Montgomery, in a tone of melancholy conviction.

“In the main I’m a truthful man, Nellie,—­I wish to be anyhow; and I’ll tell you honest I was never able to see much in Joe aside from his good looks, which I know he had, now that you call them to mind.  No,—­I think a coat of tar and feathers would be about the thing for Joe; he’s the sort of bird to wear that kind of plumage.  My opinion is that you’ve seen the last of him; no sense in your thinking otherwise, because you’re just leaving yourself open to disappointment!”

Yet Mr. Shrimplin remained to reinstate Mrs. Montgomery in her home.  It was his expert hands that set up the cracked and rusted kitchen stove, and arranged the scanty and battered furniture in the several rooms.  Nor was he satisfied to do merely this, for he presently despatched Arthur into town after an excellent assortment of groceries.  All the while, however, he neglected no opportunity to elaborate for Nellie’s benefit his opinions concerning the handy-man’s utter worthlessness.  At length this good Samaritan paused from his labors, and regaling himself with a fresh chew of tobacco and a parting gibe at Joe, set briskly off for his own home.

The street lamps demanded his immediate attention, and it was not until his day’s work was finished that he found opportunity to tell Mrs. Shrimplin of these straits to which Nellie had been reduced.  He concluded by reiterating his opinion that her sister had seen the last of Joe.

“I don’t know why you say that!” was Mrs. Shrimplin’s unexpected rejoinder.

“Ain’t I got mighty good reason to say it?” asked her husband.  “Don’t you know, and ain’t every one always said Joe was just too low to live?  I’d like to know if it wasn’t you said he should never set his foot inside your door?”

“I might say it again, and then I mightn’t,” rejoined Mrs. Shrimplin, with aggravating composure.

Two days later when the Shrimplins were at breakfast Mrs. Montgomery walked in on them.  Her face was streaked with the traces of recent tears, but there was the light of happy vindication in her eyes, and a soiled and crumpled letter in her hand.

“Mercy, Nellie!” exclaimed her sister.  “What’s the matter now?”

“Matter?  Why, I’m so happy I just don’t know what to do!  I’ve heard from my Joe!”

Mrs. Shrimplin rested her hands on her hips and surveyed Nellie with eyes that seemed to hold pity and contempt in about equal proportion.