somehow—buying presents, wishing people a Happy New Year. 'Tom-fool nonsense' he calls it. But he wouldn't see any of his family in trouble, Myron wouldn't."
She looked up thoughtfully, letting her sewing fall.
"At first," she explained, "I tried to make Myron over according to my pattern. But I gave it up after a while as a bad job. It's better not to try to mold husbands too much, Mrs. Jesse. I do all my molding on the children. They're the clay God sent me. And you'd better get down on your knees and thank God you've got some clay to work on too. Women are awful empty-landed without it."
She nodded, bit off her thread with a snap, reeled off a fresh length of cotton, skillfully rethreaded her needle and continued running rapid little rows of stitches.
"I tell you, Mrs. Jesse," she continued, "I was bound that my children should feel some of the joy I do about bands and fireworks and anniversaries. I was bound to pass on to them some of the good old customs my folks passed on to me. I've succeeded, too! Of course it's meant a lot of fuss and bother, with a holiday always around the next corner to get ready for. But it's paid! I don't put any stock at all in this modern-mother, simple
