sbie, "that I
might have walked over your garden before dinner, but for my wife
there."

"What of your wife there?" said Mrs. Crosbie, turning sharply towards
him. "Now mind, Mr. Crosbie, if the venison is over-roasted, don't say
it is my fault."

Mr. Crosbie took out his watch.

"It is now twenty-five minutes past two," said he; "the venison has
been down at the fire twenty-five minutes longer than it should have
been. And did you not keep us an hour waiting this morning, at the inn
where we slept, whilst you quarrelled with the innkeeper and his wife?"

Mrs. Crosbie answered:

"You are always giving people to understand that I am ill-tempered, Mr.
Crosbie; which I think is very unhandsome of you, Mr. Crosbie. There is
not another person in the world who thinks me ill-tempered but you. Ask
Thomas, or my maid, what they know of my temper, and ask your sister,
who has lived with me long enough."

"Why don't you ask _me_ what I think of it, mamma?" said Miss Betsy,
pertly.

"Hold your tongue, miss!" said Mrs. Crosbie.

"Must I not speak?" said Miss Betsy in a low voice, but loud enough for
her mamma to hear her.

When Miss Betsy first came in, Emily admired her very much; for,
besides the sky-blue hat and feather, she had blue satin shoes, and a
very large pair of gold earrings; but when she heard her speak so
boldly to her mother she did not like her so much. By this time John
came to tell the company that dinner was on the table; and Mr. Crosbie
got up, saying:

"The venison smells well--exceedingly well."

"But where is Miss Crosbie?" asked Mr. Fairchild.

"Oh, my aunt thought herself not smart enough to show herself before
Mr. Somers," said Miss Betsy pertly.

"Be silent, miss," said Mrs. Crosbie.

"Don't wait for her, then," said Mr. Crosbie; "let us go in to dinner.
My sister loves a little finery; she would rather lose her dinner than
not be dressed smart; I never wait for her at any meal. Come, come!
Ladies lead the way; I am very hungry."

So Mrs. Fairchild sent Emily to tell Miss Crosbie that dinner was
ready, and the rest of the company sat down to table.

"Mrs. Crosbie," said Mr. Crosbie, looking at the venison, then at his
wife, "the venison is too much roasted; I told you it would be so."

"What! finding fault with me again, Mr. Crosbie?" said Mrs. Crosbie.
"Do you hear Mr. Fairchild finding fault with his wife in this manner?"

"Perhaps the venison is better than you think, Mr. Crosb