The
language used by Mr. Fogg when he made this discovery was extremely
disgraceful, and he felt sorry for it a moment afterward. As he grew
cooler he loaded both barrels and started afresh for the rabbits. He
saw one in a few moments and was about to fire, when he noticed that
there were no caps on the gun. He felt for one, and, to his dismay,
found that he had snapped the last one off. Then he ground his teeth
and walked home. On his way he saw a greater number of rabbits than he
ever saw before or is likely to see again, and as he looked at them
and thought of Mrs. Fogg he felt mad and murderous. He went gunning
eight or ten times afterward that autumn, always with a full supply of
ammunition, but he never once saw a rabbit or any other kind of game
within gun-shot.

[Illustration: AN INDIGNANT GUNNER]

But he forgave Mrs. Fogg, and for a while their domestic peace was
unruffled. One evening, however, while they were sitting together,
they got to talking about their married life and their past troubles
until both of them grew quite sympathetic. At last Mrs. Fogg suggested
that it might help to kindle afresh the fire of love in their hearts
if they would freely confess their faults to each other and promise to
amend them. Mr. Fogg said it struck him as being a good idea. For his
part, he was willing to make a clean breast of it, but he suggested
that perhaps his wife had better begin. She thought for a moment, and
this conversation ensued:

"Well, then," said Mrs. Fogg, "I am willing to acknowledge that I am
the worst-tempered woman in the world."

_Mr. Fogg_ (turning and looking at her). "Maria, that's about the only
time you ever told the square-toed truth in your life."

_Mrs. Fogg_ (indignantly). "Mr. Fogg, that's perfectly outrageous. You
ought to be ashamed of yourself."

_F_. "Well, you know it's so. You _have_ got the worst temper of any
woman I ever saw--the very worst; now haven't you?"

[Illustration: CONFESSING THEIR FAULTS]

_Mrs. F_. "No, I haven't, either. I'm just as good-tempered as you
are."

_F_. "That's not so. You're as cross as a bear If you were married to
a graven image, you'd quarrel with it."

_Mrs. F_. "That's an outrageous falsehood! There isn't any woman about
this neighborhood that puts up with as much as I do without getting
angry. You're a perfect brute."

_F_. "It's you that is the brute."

_Mrs. F_. "No, it isn't."

_F_. "Yes, it is. You're as snappish as a mad dog.