No sovereign, issuing a proclamation of war, could have assumed a more formidable mien than Mrs. Yellett, squatting erect on the prairie, crowned by her rabbit-skin cap.  Mary and Judith, with bland, impassive expressions, noted the effect of the mandate.  There was not the faintest symptom of rebellion; each Brobdingnag accepted the matriarch’s edict without a murmur.

With an air of further meditation on the efficacy of brown paper and vinegar at the crucial moment, Mrs. Yellett suddenly observed: 

“The lacking, like the dog, may be taught to fetch and carry a book; but to learn it he is unable.”

“Maw, does it say that in the Book of Hiram?” asked Clematis.

“It says that, an’ more, too.  It says, ’The words of the wise are an expense, but the lovin’ parent don’t grudge ’em.’”

Mary Carmichael had noticed, as her alien presence came to be less of a check on Mrs. Yellett’s natural medium of expression, that she was much addicted to a species of quotation with which she impartially adorned her conversation, pointed family morals, or administered an occasional reproof.  These family aphorisms were sometimes semi-legal, sometimes semi-scriptural in turn of phrase, and built on a foundation of homely philosophy.  They were ascribed to the “Book of Hiram” and never failed of salutary effect in the family circle.  But the apt quotations that she had just heard piqued Mary’s curiosity more than before.

“Do you happen to have a copy of the Book of Hiram, Mrs. Yellett?” she asked, in all innocence, supposing that the ’homely apothegms were to be found at the back of some patent-medicine almanac.  Judith Rodney listened in wonder.  The question had never before been asked in her hearing.

“I lost mine.”  Mrs. Yellett folded her arms and looked at her questioner with something of a challenging mien.

“What a pity!  I’ve been so interested in the quotations I’ve heard you make from it.”

“What’s the matter with ’em?” she demanded, pride and apprehension equally commingled.

Judith Rodney rushed to the rescue: 

“Nothing is the matter with them, Mrs. Yellett,” she said, with her disarming smile, “except that there is not quite enough to go around.”

The matriarch had the air of gathering herself together for something really worth while.  Then she tossed off: 

“’’Tain’t always the quality of the grub that confers the flavor, but sometimes the scarcity thereof.’”

Perhaps it has been the good-fortune of some of us to say a word of praise to an author, while unconscious of his relationship to the book praised.  Mark the genial glow radiating from every feature of our auditor!  How we feel ourselves anointed with his approval, our good taste and critical faculty how commended!  It is a luxury that goes a long way towards mitigating the discomfitures caused by the reverse of this unctuous blunder.