And Aunt Esther's skin, says Uncle Timothy, looks like his cowhide boots after he has worn them out in the rain. All that lost motion! But this aunt goes right on taking care of her beauty. She has read that bee stings rejuvenate the facial muscles, so she goes out to the beehives for a treatment. But she comes in after the first tiniest application and screams for the witch hazel. She is a burden at dinnertime, for she has to have the shades down to keep out the cruel light of July, for her complexion's sake, and Uncle Timothy can't tell where his mouth is to put one of the year's first potatoes Into it. Uncle Timothy can't tell the green beans from the turnip greens, and he trembles all over with frustration.
And out in the rough winds of July gales sweeping suddenly in from the Atlantic, the wild roses have the kind of skin that Aunt Esther would sell her soul for. Like soft velvet. And the moral of that is, swears Uncle Timothy, a good skin comes where it is needed and when it wants to, and it is no use for anybody making a fool of herself over it at all.
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