y. "'Er 'usband was one of these 'ere
masterful men, 'e was, same as wot yours is, and w'en 'er didn't please
'im, 'e 'd 'it 'er somethink orful. Many's the time I've gone there and
found 'er with 'er poor face all cut up and the crockery broke bad. 'I
dropped a cup' 'er'd say to me, 'and the pieces flew up and 'it me in the
face.' 'Er face looked like a crazy quilt from 'aving dropped so many
cups, and wunst, without thinkin' wot I might be doin' of, I gave 'er a
chiny tea set for 'er Christmas present.

"Wen I went to see 'er again, the tea set was all broke and 'er 'ad court
plaster all over 'er face. The pieces must 'ave flew more 'n common from
the tea set, cause 'er 'usband's 'ed was laid open somethink frightful and
they'd 'ad in the doctor to take a seam in it. From that time on I never
'eard of no more cups bein' dropped and 'er face looked quite human and
peaceful like w'en 'e died. God rest 'is soul, 'e ain't a-breakin' no tea
sets now by accident nor a-purpose neither. I was never one to interfere
between man and wife, Miss Carr, but I want you to tell your 'usband that
should 'e undertake to 'it me, 'e'll get a bucket of 'ot tea throwed in
'is face."

"It's not at all likely," answered Dorothy, biting her lip, "that such a
thing will happen." She was swayed by two contradictory impulses--one to
scream with laughter, the other to throw something at Mrs. Smithers.

"'E's been at peace now six months come Tuesday," continued Mrs. Smithers,
"and on account of 'is 'avin' broke the tea set, I don't feel no call to
wear mourning for 'im more 'n a year, though folks thinks as 'ow it brands
me as 'eartless for takin' it off inside of two. Sakes alive, wot's that?"
she cried, drawing her sable skirts more closely about her as a dark
shadow darted across the kitchen.

"It's only the cat," answered Dorothy, reassuringly. "Come here,
Claudius."

Mrs. Smithers repressed an exclamation of horror as Claudius, purring
pleasantly, came out into the sunlight, brandishing his plumed tail, and
sat down on the edge of Dorothy's skirt, blinking his green eyes at the
intruder.

"'E's the very cat," said Mrs. Smithers, hoarsely, "wot your uncle killed
the week afore 'e died!"

"Before who died?" asked Dorothy, a chill creeping into her blood.

"Your uncle," whispered Mrs. Smithers, her eyes still fixed upon Claudius
Tiberius. "'E killed that very cat, 'e did, 'cause 'e couldn't never abide
'im, and now 'e's come back!"