, he started, with the exclamation, "What the deuce! I
reckon I've got into the wrong pew," and was going away, when Mabel
called him back. "Meb, you here?" said he. "_You_ in this little
tucked-up hole, that I always thought too small for me and my traps!
What does it mean?"

Mabel had carefully studied the tones of her husband's voice, and
knowing from the one he now assumed that he was not displeased with
her, the sense of injustice done her by his mother burst out, and
throwing her arms around his neck, she told him everything connected
with her removal, asking what his mother meant by saying, "she should
never get anything for their board," and begging him "to take her
away where they could live alone and be happy."

Since he had left her, John Jr. had _thought_ a great deal, the
result of which was, that he determined on returning home much sooner
than he at first intended, promising himself to treat Mabel decently,
and if possible win back the respect of 'Lena, which he knew he had
lost. To his companions, who urged him to remain, he replied that
"he had left his wife sick, and he could not stay longer."

It cost him a great effort to say "my wife," for never before had he
so called her, but he felt better the moment he had done so, and
bidding his young friends adieu, he started for home with the same
impetuous speed which usually characterized his riding. He had fully
expected to meet Mabel in the parlor, and was even revolving in his
own mind the prospect of kissing her, provided 'Lena were present.
"That'll prove to her," thought he, "that I am not the hardened
wretch she thinks I am; so I'll do it, if Meb doesn't happen to be
all bound up in camphor and aromatic vinegar, which I can't endure,
anyway."

Full of this resolution he had hastened home, going first to his old
room, where he had come so unexpectedly upon Mabel that for a moment
he scarcely knew what to say. By the time, however, that she had
finished her story, his mind was pretty well made up.

"And so it's mother's doings, hey?" said he, violently pulling the
bell-rope, and then walking up and down the room until Corinda
appeared in answer to his summons.

"How many blacks are there in the kitchen?" he asked.

"Six or seven, besides Aunt Polly," answered Corinda.

"Very well. Tell every man of them to come up here, quick."

Full of wonder Corinda departed, carrying the intelligence, and
adding that "Marster John looked mighty bl