e than that husband o' thine.'

'Do you think so, uncle?'

'Aye, but thou hasna' made use o' 'em tonight. Thou'rt a foolish wench,
wench. At thy time o' life, and after a year o' th' married state, thou
ought'st to know better than reason wi' a man in a temper.'

'But, really, uncle, it was so absurd of Harold, wasn't it?'

'Aye!' said Dan. 'But why didst-na' give in and kiss him, and smack his
face for him?'

'There was nothing to give in about, uncle.'

'There never is,' said Dan. 'There never is. That's the point. Still,
thou'rt nigh crying, wench.'

'I'm not, uncle,' she contradicted, the tears falling on to the apple.

'And Harold's using bad language all up Trafalgar Road, I lay,' Dan
added.

'It was all Harold's fault,' said Maud.

'Why, in course it were Harold's fault. But nowt's worth a quarrel, my
dear--NOWT. I remember Harold's grandfeyther--he were th' second of us,
your grandfeyther were the eldest, and I were the youngest--I remember
Harold's grandfeyther chasing his wife all over th' town wi' a besom a
week after they were married.'

'With a besom!' murmured Maud, pained and forgetting to cry. 'Harold's
grandfather, not mine?'

'Wi' a besom,' Dan repeated, nodding. 'They never quarrelled
again--ne'er again. Th' old woman allus said after that as quarrels
were for fools. And her was right.'

'I don't see Harold chasing me across Bursley with a besom,' said Maud
primly. 'But what you say is quite right, you dear old uncle. Men are
queer--I mean husbands. You can't argue with them. You'd much better
give in--'

'And have your own way after all.'

'And perhaps Harold was--'

Harold's step could be heard in the hall.

'Oh, dear!' cried Maud. 'What shall I do?'

'I'm not feeling very well,' whispered Uncle Dan weakly. 'I have these
'ere attacks sometimes. There's only one thing as'll do me any
good--brandy.'

And his head fell over one side of the chair, and he looked precisely
like a corpse.

'Maud, what are you doing?' almost shouted Harold, when he came into
the room.

She was putting a liqueur-glass to Uncle Dan's lips.

'Oh, Harold,' she cried, 'uncle's had an attack of some sort. I'm
giving him some brandy.'

'But you mustn't give him brandy,' said Harold authoritatively to her.

'But I MUST give him brandy,' said Maud. 'He told me that brandy was
the only thing to save him.'

'Nonsense, child!' Harold persisted. 'Uncle told ME all about these
attacks. They're perfectly