top of the straw, regarded his proceedings with
mixed feelings of surprise and indignation.

"It can't be that tanner 'e owes me," he mused, "and yet I don't know
what else it can be. I never see a man so jumpy."

He continued to speculate while the old horse, undisturbed by the
driver's absence, placidly continued its journey. A mile farther,
however, he got down to take the short cut by the fields.

"If Joe can't look after his 'orse and cart," he said, primly, as he
watched it along the road, "it's not my business."

The footpath was not much used at that time of night, and he only met one
man. They were in the shadow of the trees which fringed the new cemetery
as they passed, and both peered. The stranger was satisfied first and,
to Mr. Blows's growing indignation, first gave a leap backward which
would not have disgraced an acrobat, and then made off across the field
with hideous outcries.

"If I get 'old of some of you," said the offended Mr. Blows, "I'll give
you something to holler for."

He pursued his way grumbling, and insensibly slackened his pace as he
drew near home. A remnant of conscience which had stuck to him without
encouragement for thirty-five years persisted in suggesting that he had
behaved badly. It also made a few ill-bred inquiries as to how his wife
and children had subsisted for the last three months. He stood outside
the house for a short space, and then, opening the door softly, walked
in.

The kitchen-door stood open, and his wife in a black dress sat sewing by
the light of a smoky lamp. She looked up as she heard his footsteps, and
then, without a word, slid from the chair full length to the floor.

"Go on," said Mr. Blows, bitterly; "keep it up. Don't mind me."

Mrs. Blows paid no heed; her face was white and her eyes were closed.
Her husband, with a dawning perception of the state of affairs, drew a
mug of water from the tap and flung it over her. She opened her eyes and
gave a faint scream, and then, scrambling to her feet, tottered toward
him and sobbed on his breast.

"There, there," said Mr. Blows. "Don't take on; I forgive you."

"Oh, John," said his wife, sobbing convulsively, "I thought you was dead.
I thought you was dead. It's only a fortnight ago since we buried you!"

"Buried me?" said the startled Mr. Blows. "Buried me?"

"I shall wake up and find I'm dreaming," wailed Mrs. Blows; "I know I
shall. I'm always dreaming that you're not dead. Night