st have patience with her.'

"'I can manage her,' said Brooke. 'The first morning after we are
married I always say to my wife, "Here's the breeches; now if ye
want 'em, take 'em, an' I'll put on the dress."'

"He looked wise, then, as if 'twere a great argument.

"'Always?' says I. 'God bless thee, 'tis an odd habit.'

"Well, the boast o' Brooke went from one to another an' at last to
the widow's ear. They say a look o' firmness an' resolution came
into her face, an' late in August they were married of an evening
at the home o' Brooke. Well, about then, I had been having
trouble."

"Trouble?" said Trove.

"It was another's trouble--that of a client o' mine, a poor woman
out in the country. Brooke had a mortgage on her cattle, an' she
could not pay, an' I undertook to help her. I had some money due
me, but was unable to put me hand on it. That day before the
wedding I went to the old sinner.

"'Brooke, I came to see about the Martha Vaughn mortgage,' says I."

"Martha Vaughn!" said Trove, turning quickly.

"Yes, one o' God's people," said the tinker.

"Ye may have seen her?"

"I have seen her," said Trove.

"'At ten o'clock to-morrow I shall foreclose,' says Brooke, waving
his fist.

"'Give her a little time--till the day after to-morrow,--man, it is
not much to ask,' says I.

"'Not an hour,' says he; an' I came away."

Darrel rose and put on his glasses and brought a newspaper and gave
it to the boy.

"Read that," said he, his finger on the story, "an' see what came
of it."

The article was entitled "A Rag Doll--The Story of a Money-lender
whose Name, let us say, is Brown."

After some account of the marriage and of bride and groom, the
story went on as follows:--

"At midnight the charivari was heard--a noisy beating of pans and
pots in the door-yard of the unhappy groom, who flung sticks of
wood from the window, and who finally dispersed the crowd with an
old shotgun. Bright and early next day came the milkman--a veteran
of the war of 1812--who, agreeably with his custom, sounded the
call of boots and saddles on his battered bugle at Brown's door.
But none came to open it. The noon hour passed with no sign of
life in the old house.

"'Suthin' hes happened over there,' said his nearest neighbour,
peering out of the window. 'Mebbe they've fit an' disabled each
other.'

"'You'd better go an' rap on the door,' said his wife.

"He started, halting at his gate and looking over