thing if tramps be to
come to decent folks' doors and knock 'em up like this. Who's door did
you take it for?"

"It's me!" screamed Mrs. Peckaby. "Don't you know me? Come and undo the
door, and let me come in. I be sopping."

"Know you! How should I know you? Who be you?"

"Good heavens, Peckaby! you must know me. Ain't I your wife?"

"My wife! Not a bit on't. You needn't come here with that gammon,
missis, whoever you be. My wife's gone off to New Jerusalem on a white
donkey."

He slammed to the casement. Mrs. Peckaby, what with the rain and what
with the disappointment, burst into tears. In the same moment, sundry
other casements opened, and all the heads in the vicinity--including the
blacksmith Chuffs, and Mrs. Chuff's--were thrust out to condole with
their neighbour, Mrs. Peckaby.

"Had she been and come back a'ready?" "Did she get tired of the saints
so soon as this--or did they get tired of her?" "What sort of a city,
was it?" "Which was most plentiful--geese or sage?" "How many wives,
besides herself, had the gentleman that _she_ chose?" "Who took care of
the babies?" "Did they have many public dances?" "Was veils for the
bonnets all the go?" "Was it a paradise or warn't it?" "And how was
Brother Jarrum?"

Amongst the many questions asked, those came prominently, tingling on
the ears of the unhappy Mrs. Peckaby. Too completely prostrate with
events to retort, she suddenly let drop her gown, that she had kept so
carefully turned, and clapped both her hands upon her face. Then came a
real, genuine question from the next door casement--Mrs. Green's.

"Ain't that your plum-coloured gownd? What's come to it?"

Mrs. Peckaby, somewhat aroused, looked at the gown in haste. What _had_
come to it? Patches of dead-white, looking not unlike paint, covered it
about on all sides, especially behind. The shawl had caught some white,
too, and the green leather gloves looked, inside, as though they had had
a coat of whitewash put on them. Her beautiful gownd! laid by so
long!--what on earth had ruined it like that?

Chuff, the blacksmith, gave a great grin from his window. "Sure that
there donkey never was painted down white!" quoth he.

That it had been painted down white and with exceedingly wet paint too,
there could be little doubt. Some poor donkey humble in his coat of
gray, converted into a fine white animal for the occasion, by Peckaby
and Chuff and their cronies. Mrs. Peckaby shrieked and sobbed with
morti