assinations and suicides were discussed, if they had
been conducted respectably, with the same air of commiseration as was
employed when a fellow-boarder complained of headache; if they were not
respectable we did not discuss them at all. It took a first-class
society scandal to really stir us, and then we gathered in groups and
became thoroughly interested--the women, I mean, of course. The men
were just as interested but not so ready to admit it, and professed to
be debating politics. I sometimes wonder if what the Psalmist said in
his haste might not have been affirmed more leisurely. However, that
is nothing to the point; ordinarily, there is no denying the fact that
we were bored, or perhaps I ought to adopt the modern expression and
say "blase."

Here in Windyridge that word and its significance are unknown.

When old Mrs. Smithies' sow had a litter of seventeen pigs we all threw
down our work and went across to congratulate her, and stopped each
other in the street to discuss the momentous event, and to speculate on
the difference it would make in that worthy lady's fortunes.

On the other hand, when old Woodman's dog, Caesar, was reported to have
gone mad, we were wildly excited for the space of one whole day, and
spent our time in telling each other what dreadful things _might_ have
happened if he had not been securely chained up from the moment the
symptoms became ominous; and recalling lurid and highly-imaginative
stories of men who, as the result of dog-bites, had foamed at the
mouth, and had to be roped down to their beds. Which reminded someone
else of the bull that old Green used to have, away yonder past Uncle
Ned's, which went mad one Whitsuntide, and tore along the road three
good miles to Windyridge, roaring furiously, and scattering the school
children, who were assembled for the treat, in all directions; and
badly goring this very dog Caesar, who had pluckily charged him.

This week's excitements began on Monday, when young Smiddles, who had
been "gas-acting," according to his mother, ran his fist through the
window-pane, and cut his arm very badly and even dangerously.
Smiddles' roaring must have rivalled that of old Green's bull, and,
supplemented by his mother's screams, it served to rouse the whole
village.

Smiddles' sister, a buxom young woman of plain appearance but sound
sense, threatened to box the sufferer's ears if he did not "stop that
din," and though much alarmed at the flow