On to the dresser her eye wandered, and was met by a riot of dirty dishes and plates, salmon tins, empty beer bottles, crusts of bread, reinforced by an old boot.
The kitchen-table held her attention for fully half a minute. The torn newspaper covering it was stained to every shade of black and brown and grey, the whole being composed by a large yellow splotch, where a cup of very liquid mustard had come to grief.
Upon this informal tablecloth was strewn a medley of unwashed plates, knives and forks, bread-crumbs, potato-peelings and fish-bones.
Having gazed her fill, and still ominously silent, she proceeded to make a thorough tour of inspection, Bindle watching her with distended eyes, fear clutching at his heart.
At the sink she stood for some seconds steadfastly regarding Bindle's pancake. Her lips had now entirely disappeared.
The crisis came when she opened the dresser drawer and found the pie-dish and plate he had broken, but had forgotten to take away. Screwing up the packet again, she turned swiftly and hurled it at him with all her strength.
Wholly unprepared, Bindle made a vain effort to dodge; but the package got him on the side of the head, and a red line above his ear showed that Mrs. Bindle had drawn first blood.
"You fiend!" she cried. "Oh, you——!" and dropping into the chair by the table she collapsed.
Soon the kitchen was ringing with the sounds of her hysterical laughter. Bindle watched her like one hypnotised.
As if to save his reason, a knock came at the outer door. He side-stepped swiftly and made a dash for the door giving access to the hall. A moment later he was gazing with relief at Mrs. Hearty's pale blue tam o' shanter.