wearing over his face while he dozed, to keep off the flies.

"Good Lord! And me all this morning in the homefield scoading dung!"

"You go home this instant, and take every bit of that dung off again
before sunset," commanded the Mayor, "and if the Lord says no more
about it, we'll overlook the case."

Maybe you have never heard either of his famous examination of Sarah
Mennear, of the "Three Pilchards" Inn (commonly known as the "Kettle
of Fish "), who applied for a separation, alleging that her husband
had kissed her by mistake for another woman.

"What other woman?" demanded his Worship.

"Sorra wan o' me knows," answered Sarah, who came of Irish
extraction.

Her tale went that the previous evening, a little after twilight, she
was walking up the street and had gone by the door of the "Ship" Inn,
when a man staggered out into the roadway and followed her. By the
sound of his footsteps she took him for some drunken sailor, and was
hurrying on (but not fast, by reason of her clogs), when the man
overtook her, flung an arm around her neck, and forcibly kissed her.
Breaking away from him, she discovered it was her own husband.

"Then where's the harm?" asked the Mayor.

"But, please your Worship, he took me for another woman."

"Then you must cite the other woman."

"Arrah now, and how the divvle, saving your Worship's presence, will
I cite the hussy, seein' I never clapt eyes on her?"

"No difficulty at all. To begin with, she was wearing clogs."

"And so would nine women out of ten be wearin' clogs in last night's
weather."

"And next, she was lifting the skirt of her gown high, to let the
folks admire her ankles."

"Your Worship saw the woman, then? If I'd known your Worship to be
within hail--"

"I think I know the woman. And so do you, Mrs. Mennear, if you can
think of one in this town that's vain as yourself of her foot and
ankle, and with as good a right."

"There's not one," said Mrs. Mennear positively.

"Oh yes, there is. Go back home, like a sensible soul, and maybe
you'll find her there."

"The villain! Ye'll not be tellin' me he's dared--" Mrs. Mennear
came near to choke.

"And small blame to him," said the Mayor with a twinkle. "Will you
go home, Sarah Mennear, and be humble, and ask her pardon?"

"Will I sclum her eyes out, ye mane!" cried Sarah, fairly dancing.

"Go home, foolish wife!" The Mayor was not smiling now, and his
voice took on a terrible sternness. "The wo