set eyes on each other then, M.' This last she added in a plaintive tone, hoping to soften him.

'Are you going to keep me here all night without anything?' he then said. 'Let me have some whisky,—hot, with;—and don't stand there looking at nothing.'

'But you'll take some solids with it, Moulder? Why it stands to reason you'll be famished.'

'Do as you're bid, will you, and give me the whisky. Are you going to tell me when I'm to eat and when I'm to drink, like a child?' This he said in that tone of voice which made Mrs. Moulder know that he meant to be obeyed; and though she was sure that he would make himself drunk, she was compelled to minister to his desires. She got the whisky and hot water, the lemon and sugar, and set the things beside him; and then she retired to the sofa. John Kenneby the while sat perfectly silent looking on. Perhaps he was considering whether he would be able to emulate the domestic management of Dockwrath or of Moulder when he should have taken to himself Mrs. Smiley and the Kingsland brick-field.

'If you've a mind to help yourself, John, I suppose you'll do it,' said Moulder.

'None for me just at present, thank'ee,' said Kenneby.

'I suppose you wouldn't swallow nothing less than wine in them togs?' said the other, raising his glass to his lips. 'Well, here's better luck, and I'm blessed if it's not wanting. I'm pretty well tired of this go, and so I mean to let 'em know pretty plainly.'

All this was understood by Mrs. Moulder, who knew that it only signified that her husband was half tipsy, and that in all probability he would be whole tipsy before long. There was no help for it. Were she to remonstrate with him in his present mood, he would very probably fling the bottle at her head. Indeed, remonstrances were never of avail with him. So she sat herself down, thinking how she would run down when she heard Mrs. Smiley's step, and beg that lady to postpone her visit. Indeed it would be well to send John to convey her home again.

Moulder swallowed his glass of hot toddy fast, and then mixed another. His eyes were very bloodshot, and he sat staring at the fire. His hands were thrust into his pockets between the periods of his drinking, and he no longer spoke to any one. 'I'm ——— if I stand it,' he growled forth, addressing himself. 'I've stood it a ——— deal too long.' And then he finished the second glass. There was a sort of understanding on the part of his wife that such interjections as these referred to Hubbles and Grease, and indicated a painfully advanced state of drink. There was one hope; the double heat, that of the fire and of the whisky, might make him sleep; and if so, he would be safe for two or three hours.

'I'm blessed if I do, and that's all,' said Moulder, grasping the