"I usta could paint on canvas," Biff said, breaking Mrs. Timothy's thoughts into useless little pieces. "Nudes," he said. He bunched the tips of his short fat fingers together, kissed them and threw them apart. "I should know a little something about paint."

"Yes, of course you do, Biff, Mrs. Timothy said, "of course you do." This condescendingly uttered, made her feel, she thought, an appropriate humility, much (she would not permit herself to think) akin to pride. "Biff, I simply want my shutters..

"Shutters," he said disdainfully. "Why have shutters anyways. They don't do no good-like the old country kind where folks got to hide from the wind."

What indeed should a clergyman's wife do under these ridiculous circumstances? Since she would not answer the question and shame came where a proud humility might have been, Mrs. Timothy thought: "At least I've wits enough to apply to the clergyman direct.”

"Just a moment," said she to the painter, and, indulging herself, let the screen door slam behind her.

"Hello, Arthur?" on the telephone.

"Yes. Mrs. Timothy?" Came over the wire to her. "I'm glad you called. Let me ask you why in the world did you have to go and put salt in the potato you-why salad! You know very well, Mrs. Timothy, I like to put my own salt."

"But, Arthur," Mrs. Timothy said, "you let me put salt in the stew, and the meat loaf, and and..

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"Not the spaghetti or the stewed tomatoes or the . . ."

"Yes, Arthur," Mrs. Timothy said, "or potato salad. It's the painter we have, 'I guess. I'm simply distraught today. I'm trying to get him to mix the paint as I I wish. But he ... You know, Arthur? I do believe the man is colorblind." She hung the new thought on the interruption.

"Quite likely," the Reverend Mr. Timothy said. "Cheer up, Mrs. Timothy. I'll be home in less than an hour and we'll get just exactly what you want." "Very well, Arthur."

"And, Mrs. Timothy?" "Yes? Arthur?"

"Remember about the salt next time, will you?"

"Yes, Arthur." There was a click and Mrs. Timothy was alone with the telephone. She put the device down carefully, looking absently at the Japanese wind crystals hanging at the doorway. They hung motionless now.

In the garden Biff was on his knees petting the spaniel; pulling at its ears. "I have shutters because they look nice," Mrs. Timothy said, remembering something he'd said about shutters.

"For sure," he said. "It's your business, ma'am, but if I'd've built this place I'd've put the entry here; put the windows where the door is and leave out the shutters altogether."

"Do you design houses too?" The question skirted on sarcasm.

"No, but I say, if I had've, I'd've done it that way.”

"I see." Mrs. Timothy couldn't but she didn't know it and so her little deception did not need forgiving.

"You travel much?" he said. "They use shutters a lot in the old country. Real shutters, to get off away from the wind."

Mrs. Timothy decided not to answer.

"Will this color be to your liking then?" he said.

"Yes, yes, yes. It will do." She wanted to be done with it and have him gone.