ey-lender were flying with great energy.

"'She's druv him crazy,' a man shouted.

"'An' knocked the socks off him,' said another.

"'Must have been tryin' t' make him into a rag doll,' was the
comment of a third.

"'Brown, if yer goin' t' be a womern,' said one, as they surrounded
him, 'ye'd ought to put on a longer dress. Yer enough t' scare a
hoss.'

"Brown was inarticulate with anger.

"A number of men judging him insane, seized and returned him to his
punishment. They heard the unhappy story with loud laughter.

"'You'd better give up an' go to the kitchen. Brown,' said one of
them; and there are those who maintain that he got the dinner
before he got the trousers."

"Well, God be praised!" said Darrel, when Trove had finished
reading the story; "Brooke was unable to foreclose that day, an'
the next was Sunday, an' bright an' early on Monday morning I paid
the debt."

"Mrs. Vaughn has a daughter," said Trove, blushing.

"Ay; an' she hath a pretty redness in her lip," said Darrel,
quickly, "an' a merry flash in her eye. Thou hast yet far to go,
boy. Look not upon her now, or she will trip thee. By an' by,
boy, by an' by."

There was an odd trait in Darrel. In familiar talk he often made
use of "ye"--a shortened you--in speaking to those of old
acquaintance. But when there was man or topic to rouse him into
higher dignity it was more often "thee" or "thou" with him. Trove
made no answer and shortly went away.

In certain court records one may read of the celebrated suit for
divorce which enlivened the winter of that year in the north
country. It is enough to quote the ringing words of one Colonel
Jenkins, who addressed the judge as follows:--

"Picture to yourself, sir, this venerable man, waking from his
dream of happiness to be robbed of his trousers--the very insignia
of his manhood. Picture him, sir, sitting in calico and despair,
mingled with hunger and humiliation. Think of him being addressed
as 'wife.' Being called 'wife,' sir, by this woman he had taken to
his heart and home. That, your Honour, was ingratitude sharper
than a serpent's tooth. Picture him driven from his fireside in
skirts,--the very drapery of humiliation,--skirts, your Honour,
that came barely to the knees and left his nether limbs exposed to
the autumnal breeze and the ridicule of the unthinking. Sir, it is
for you to say how far the widow may go in her oppression. If such
conduct is permitted, in Go