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Pomona now looked at Jonas, and Jonas looked at Pomona.

“Several times, when we was writing the story,” said Pomona, “I had a notion that Jone was trying to squeeze a moral into it here and there; but he didn’t say nothing about it, and I didn’t ask him, and if there’s anything more to say about it, it’s for him to do it.”

Jonas smiled. “My opinion about morals to stories is that the people who read them ought to work them out for themselves,” said he. “Some people work out one kind of moral, and others work out another kind. It was a pretty big job to write that story, which I had to do the most of, and I don’t think I ought to be called on to put in any moral, which is a good deal like being asked to make bread for the man who buys my wheat.”

Pomona looked down at the ground, then up to the sky, and then she remarked:

“If you wouldn’t mind hearing a little bit of a story, I’d like to tell you one.” No one had any wish to object, and she began: “Once there was a young married man who went to his business in a canoe; every morning he paddled himself down to his business, and every afternoon he paddled himself back. About half-way down the beautiful stream on which he lived there was a little point of rocks projecting out into the water, and the young man was obliged to paddle his canoe very near the opposite shore in order to get out of the way. This was troublesome, and after a while he got tired of it. It would be very much pleasanter, he thought, if he could paddle along the middle of the stream, without thinking about the rocks. So when, one morning, he was in a great hurry, he said to himself that he would steer his canoe right straight against that point of rocks and break it off. After that he would have a clear passage up and down the stream. So as soon as he got near enough he carried out his plan. That young man did not go to his office that morning, and the fragments of his canoe was picked up by a poor family and used for kindling-wood. Now,” she added, looking deliberately at Jonas, “if you can find a good moral to that story we’d be glad to hear it.”

It was very evident to the listeners that Pomona had given a shrewd guess as to the moral of the story Jonas had read, if, indeed, he had had in his mind any moral at all–and that her own was an offset to it, or so intended. So the Next Neighbor came to the rescue.

“I have a great dislike,” she announced, “to morals of all sorts. I prefer never to think of morals. They are very perplexing, and often worse than useless. But if there are any morals to those two stories, I should say that the first story has something to do with women who manage too much; and the second, in some occult manner, deals with men who try to reform their wives.”

Here every one laughed. And then there followed a lively criticism of the story Jonas had read; but they all agreed that it was worthy of Pomona and Jonas, and should be published. When they had reached this conclusion they were summoned to luncheon.