“That is your fault,” said Susan, “I was willing to go.”
Lacy was about making a sharp reply, but recollecting what the clergyman had said about provoking one another to anger, he held his tongue; and when Susan went out of the room he felt as proud as if he had killed a lion; for nothing is so pleasant as thinking we have been enabled to overcome a bad inclination. “I think,” said he, “I shall get very good now, after this, by myself.”
Susan now came back with her gown, and hung it before the fire, for the weather had been damp.
“Keep your nasty pipe out of the way,” said she to her husband, “or my gown will be spoiled.”
“What a fuss you make about your gown,” replied he; “it would be well if you thought as much of washing my shirt.”
“No matter,” said she, “I say you shan’t smoke my gown.”
“And I say I’ll do as I like, wife,” replied he. “Tobacco won’t hurt your gown—look here,” and he was so mischievous as to let some of the ashes fall on it.
Susan cried out, snatched his pipe, broke it, and threw the pieces at him.
This was too much for Lacy’s patience, though he was not often passionate: he seized the gown, and running to the door, tossed it into the mud that lay in the front of the house.
Much altercation here ensued—Lacy ran out of the house. “Ah!” thought he, “if we had gone to prayers this would not have happened.” He felt ashamed of having taken such a revenge on his wife, after provoking her as he did; but he was too stubborn to go back and be friends with her. He walked on towards Connor’s cabin, and as he passed the door he plainly heard the sobs of a woman within.