"'I'll get a divorce—I'll have the law on ye,' said the old man, angrily, as he walked the floor in his gown of calico.
"'Go on,' said she. 'Go to the lawyer now.'
"'Will ye git me a pair o' breeches?'
"'No; I took yer offer, an' ye can't have 'em 'til ye've done the work that goes with the dress. Come, now, I want my dinner.'
"'I can't find a stitch in the house,' said he, turning to his neighbour. 'I wish ye'd bring me some clothes.'
"The caller made no reply, but came away smiling, and told of
Brown's dilemma.
"'It's good for him,' said the neighbour's wife. 'Don't ye take him any clothes. He's bullied three wives to death, an' now I'm glad he's got a wife that can bully him.'
"Brown waited long, but no help arrived. The wife was firm and he very hungry. She called him 'wife'—a title not calculated to soothe a man of his agility and vigour. He galloped across the room at her, yelling as he brandished a poker. She quickly took it away and drove him into a corner. He had taken up the poker and now seemed likely to perish by it. Then, going to the stove with this odd weapon, she stuck its end in the fire, and Brown had no sooner flung a wash-basin across the room at her head than she ran after him with the hot poker. Then, calling for help, he ran around the stove and out of doors like a wild man, his dress of calico and his long hair flying in the breeze. Pedestrians halted, men and women came out of their homes. The bare feet of the money-lender were flying with great energy.
"'She's druv him crazy,' a man shouted.
"'An' knocked the socks off him,' said another.