"Why, Jenny!" shrieked her mother as Mrs. B. sank down exhausted upon the threshold of her old home. "Whatever is the matter with you, and what has brought you here this time of day?"
"I am hungry and sick, mother, and I feel as though, as though—I am going to die!"
"And where is Mr. Britisher? You've no business to be hungry with a husband to care for you," tartly replied her mother, whilst bustling about to find a grub or two to supply her daughter's wants.
"I have no husband, I fear, mother. He is—"
"Dead!" shrieked the old lady. "Don't tell me Mr. Britisher is dead!"
"Dead, or worse," sadly replied her daughter.
"Worse? Heaven defend us! You don't mean he has deserted you?"
"He left me yesterday afternoon in anger, and has not returned."
"Highty, tighty, that's it, is it? Well, you have brought it all upon yourself and will have to suffer for it. I am sure your father talked enough about idleness and vanity for you to have heeded, and time and time again I have told you that every husband in the sparrow family is a bully and a tyrant, and every wife, if she expects to live happily, must let her mate have his own way."
Mrs. B. sighed, and wearily dropped her head upon her breast.