his own importance and
dignity. In all wifely submission, as in duty bound, and according to
long-established custom, she made no demur to the very ordinary
proceeding which occupied Donovan's attention for the next few minutes.

"See what ye'll git for venturin' to interfare wid yer husban'," he
said, as he paused for want of breath.

With a well-directed kick at the prostrate form before him, and a few
genial imprecations on womankind in general and his own wife in
particular, he shuffled out of the house.

"He's been up to his tricks again; a beatin' of his poor wife. It's well
he ain't my husband. I'd never stand it as she does, poor creature,"
said one of the women who were standing about.

"I don't see how you'd prevent it; but I'm going in to see whether poor
Mrs. Ryan is quite done for."

Mrs. Fisher, the last speaker, left the group and entered her
neighbour's house. In response to a feeble "Come in," she opened the
kitchen door, which Donovan had slammed behind him. Mrs. Ryan was
sitting on the floor crying bitterly.

"I'm kilt intoirely, Mrs. Fisher, an' me poor babby's frighted to death.
Shure her father's a murtherin', battherin' wretch. I'll take him afore
the magisthrate, I will."

"Poor thing, let me see what I can do for you," said Mrs. Fisher.

A few womanly ministrations, a cup of tea and kindly words, and Mrs.
Ryan was comforted.

"Don't be thinkin' hardly uv Donovan. He's civil spoken an' kind enough
whin the dhrink's out uv him; an' I'll have to put up wid his cross
worruds an' his batin's, for he's me husban' an' the father uv me
childer," were her parting words to her neighbour.

It was easy to be seen that Mrs. Ryan had proved no dull scholar, but
had readily learned the manly logic that might is right almost as
perfectly as her husband had intended that she should.

"I'll keep your children to tea, Mrs. Ryan; and, if you like, they can
go with my Jimmie and Alice to some children's affair they're holding in
the school-room round the corner this evening."

"Shure ye're the bist uv neighbours an' I'm grateful to ye for riddin'
me uv the worrit uv of the childer for a spell. But will ye jist sind
Meg in afore she's off to the matin'? Me head's crazy, an' she must git
me a dhrop uv the craythur to put a bit uv spirit inter me."

Mrs. Fisher promised, and then left the house.

After tea, little Meg, a forlorn, wiry child of eight years, came in and
fetched the stimulant which her m