dry mocking doubts, which were, to
say the least of them, very mortifying to a believer.

"What's your opinion, sir?" she suddenly asked of Lionel.

"Well," said Lionel, "my opinion--as you wish for it--Would incline to
the suspicion that your friend, Brother Jarrum, deceived you. That he
invented the fable of the white donkey to keep you quiet while he and
the rest got clear off."

Mrs. Peckaby Went into a storm of shrieking sobs. "It couldn't be! it
couldn't be! Oh, sir, you be as cruel as the rest! Why should Brother
Jarrum take the others, and not take me?"

"That is Brother Jarrum's affair," replied Lionel. "I only say it looks
like it."

"I telled Brother Jarrum, the very day afore the start took place, that
if he took off _my_ wife, I'd follor him on and beat every bone to smash
as he'd got in his body," interposed Peckaby, glancing at Lionel with a
knowing smile. "I did, sir. Her was out"--jerking his black thumb at his
wife--"and I caught Brother Jarrum in his own room and shut the door on
us both, and there I telled him. He knew I meant it, too, and he didn't
like the look of a iron bar I happened to have in my hand. I saw that.
Other wives' husbands might do as they liked; but I warn't a-going to
have mine deluded off by them Latter Day Saints. Were I wrong, sir?"

"I do not think you were," answered Lionel.

"I'd Latter Day 'em! and saint 'em too, if I had my will!" continued
wrathful Peckaby. "Arch-deceiving villuns!"

"Well, good-day, Mrs. Peckaby," said Lionel, moving to the door. "I
would not spend too much time were I you, looking out for the white
donkey."

"It'll come! it'll come!" retorted Mrs. Peckaby, in an ecstasy of joy,
removing her hands from her ears, where she had clapped them during
Peckaby's heretical speech. "I am proud, sir, to know as it'll come, in
spite of opinions contrairey and Peckaby's wickedness; and I'm proud to
be always a-looking out for it."

"This is never it, is it, drawing up to the door now?" cried Lionel,
with gravity.

Something undoubtedly was curveting and prancing before the door;
something with a white flowing tail. Mrs. Peckaby caught one glimpse,
and bounded from her seat, her chest panting, her nostrils working. The
signs betrayed how implicit was the woman's belief; how entirely it had
taken hold of her.

Alas! for Mrs. Peckaby. Alas! for her disappointment. It was nothing but
that deceiving animal again, Farmer Blow's white pony. Apparently the
p