ng no preparation made for it, he
had a little relieved his mind by pouring a pail of water over the
kitchen fire, thereby putting the fire out and causing considerable
damage to the fire-irons and appurtenances generally, which would cause
Mrs. Peckaby some little work to remedy.

"The brute!" she ejaculated, putting her foot into the slop on the
floor, and taking a general view of things. "Oh, if I was but off!"

"My patience, what a mess!" exclaimed Polly Dawson, who happened to be
going by, and turned in for a gossip. "Whatever have done it?"

"Whatever have done it? why that wretch Peckaby," retorted the aggrieved
wife. "Don't you never get married, Polly Dawson, if you want to keep on
the right side of the men. They be the worst animals in all creation.
Many a poor woman's life has been aggrivated out of her."

"If I do get married, I shan't begin the aggrivation by wanting to be
off to them saints at New Jerusalem," impudently returned Polly Dawson.

Mrs. Peckaby received it meekly. What with the long-continued
disappointment, the perpetual "aggrivations" of Peckaby, and the
prospect of work before her, arising from the gratuitous pail of water,
she was feeling unusually cowed down.

"I wish I was a hundred mile off," she cried. "Nobody's fate was never
so hard as mine."

"It'll take you a good two hours to redd up," observed Polly Dawson.
"I'd rather you had to do it nor me."

"I'd see it further--afore it should take me two hours--and Peckaby with
it," retorted Mrs. Peckaby, reviving to a touch of temper. "I shall but
give it a lick and a promise; just mop up the wet, and dry the grate,
and get a bit of fire alight. T'other things may go."

Polly Dawson departed, and Mrs. Peckaby set to her work. By dint of some
trouble, she contrived to obtain a cup of tea for herself after awhile,
and then she sat on disconsolately as before. Night came on, and she
had ample time to indulge her ruminations.

Peckaby had not been in. Mrs. Peckaby concluded he was solacing himself
at that social rendezvous, the Plough and Harrow, and would come home in
a state of beer. Between nine and ten he entered--hours were early in
Deerham--and to Mrs. Peckaby's surprise, he was not only sober, but
social.

"It have turned out a pouring wet night," cried he. And the mood was so
unwonted, especially after the episode of the wet grate, that Mrs.
Peckaby was astonished into answering pleasantly.

"Will ye have some bread and ch