s of an exploded
shape and pattern--and looking more like a pinched and pallid scarecrow
than a well-to-do farmer. Mrs. Tadman had only carried out his commands
in a modified degree, and he immediately ordered the servant to put a
couple of logs on the fire, and then drew the table close up to the
hearth, and sat down to his tea with some appearance of satisfaction. He
had had rather a good day at market, he condescended to tell his wife
during the progress of the meal; prices were rising, his old hay was
selling at a rate which promised well for the new crops, turnips were in
brisk demand, mangold enquired for--altogether Mr. Whitelaw confessed
himself very well satisfied with the aspect of affairs.

After tea he spent his evening luxuriantly, sitting close to the fire,
with his slippered feet upon the fender, and drinking hot rum-and-water
as a preventive of impending, or cure of incipient, cold. The
rum-and-water being a novelty, something out of the usual order of his
drink, appeared to have an enlivening effect upon him. He talked more
than usual, and even proposed a game at cribbage with Mrs. Tadman; a
condescension which moved that matron to tears, reminding her, she said,
of old times, when they had been so comfortable together, before he had
taken to spend his evenings at the Grange.

"Not that I mean any unkindness to you, Ellen," the doleful Tadman added
apologetically, "for you've been a good friend to me, and if there's one
merit I can lay claim to, it's a grateful heart; but of course, when a
man marries, he never is the same to his relations as when he was single.
It isn't in human nature that he should be."

Here Mrs. Tadman's amiable kinsman requested her to hold her jaw, and to
bring the board if she was going to play, or to say as much if she
wasn't. Urged by this gentle reminder, Mrs. Tadman immediately produced a
somewhat dingy-looking pack of cards and a queer little old-fashioned
cribbage-board.

The game lasted for about an hour or so, at the end of which time the
farmer threw himself back in his chair with a yawn, and pronounced that
he had had enough of it. The old eight-day clock in the lobby struck ten
soon after this, and the two women rose to retire, leaving Stephen to his
night's libations, and not sorry to escape out of the room, which he had
converted into a kind of oven or Turkish bath by means of the roaring
fire he had insisted upon keeping up all the evening. He was left,
therefo