Monday morning found the young people at the Sanford cottage in rather indifferent spirits. When the sun, after having fought his way through clouds to do so, awoke Patty, the sound which his beams evoked from her lips was not, like that of Memnon, a note of joy, but a sigh. Flossy announced at breakfast a severe attack of her dyspepsia, caused, she declared, by the sermon to which she had listened at Samoset.

"It was a dreadfully hard sermon," she said, "and had more heads than a hydra. I'm not used to such things, and it's no wonder it made me ill."

"I didn't hear it," Will remarked; "but it has given me a headache all the same. It must be because I have so many ideas. I shall lose my wits with the pain some day, I've no doubt."

"If you do," Floss retorted, "you can advertise for them as of no use but to the owner, like private papers."

"What nonsense you two talk!" grandmother Sanford said mildly. "Dost thee think, William, that friend Putnam has secured my pension yet?"

"I will try to find out to-day, grandmother, after I've driven mother over to call on the young and lovely bride, Mrs. Bathalina Peter Clemens Mixon."

From the time of the sudden and romantic departure of Bathalina, the life of Mrs. Sanford had been made a burden by the trial of new servants. She utterly refused to have anybody about her who was Irish; yet the servants she had tried had proved alike a weariness to the flesh and a vexation to the spirit. They were principally farmers' daughters, who "never thought o' livin' out, but would stop a spell, jes' to 'commodate." In Montfield everybody knew his neighbor's affairs; and the friends of the family had been sending in a continuous stream of candidates, or messages respecting girls they thought might be available, or concerning people who might know of girls to hire, or have heard of somebody who did. Even Mrs. Brown at length became aware of the vacancy in the Sanfords' kitchen, and sent over a girl whom she recommended as being all that the most exacting could desire. It proved to be the same amiable domestic who had dealt such destruction among Mrs. Brown's hairpins; and for various reasons her first morning at the doctor's cottage was also her last.

"What could you expect," Mrs. Sanford said, "of a girl Mrs. Brown recommended? She's no kind of a housekeeper. She'd be sure to have a pig killed on the wane of the moon. And she's like one of her own doughnuts: she's no sort or kind of life nor sconce, but tough as leather to bite, if you are ever hungry enough to want to eat one. I declare I am worn almost to a shadow with trying girls, and not getting one fit to live with."

But at last a ray of light had shone through the clouds. Bathalina Mixon had sent word that her experience of wedded bliss was not, on the whole, satisfactory, and that she was willing to return and be forgiven. So Mrs. Sanford and Will were going to treat with the repentant bride, and if possible arrange for her return.

"She ain't more than half-witted," Mrs. Sanford said; "but I've concluded that's an advantage; and she knows the ways of the house, and is afraid of the doctor."

Few couples were ever more ill-assorted than Dr. Sanford and his wife; but the husband bore with admirable patience the follies which experience had taught him it was idle to hope to eradicate. His keen sense of humor aided him in this forbearance, and a remark of his wife's more than usually grotesque, had no other visible effect upon him than to provoke a quiet smile about the corners of his lips. The doctor was unspeakably fond of his children, and in them found something of the companionship denied him with his wife. Will was to succeed his father in his practice, and was already studying with that in view. For Patty her father could not bear to plan a future, since he could not endure the thought of separation. Her wooers had made little impression upon him, but he frowned decidedly upon Clarence Toxteth.

"I do not like the breed," he said to his wife. "The Toxteth blood doesn't seem to have any brain-making power in it."

"I think anybody must have brains to get money," Mrs. Sanford answered. "They've got that, at any rate, and only one son for it to go to."

"One son of that kind," her husband returned grimly, "is a great plenty."

Towards Mr. Putnam the doctor's attitude was not hostile, but rather that of one who reserved his opinion. He postponed in his mind the consideration of these things, as if by so doing he could delay the inevitable, and retain his favorite child the longer in the home-nest.

But all this has no very intimate connection with the visit which Mrs. Sanford and her son had set out to pay to Mrs. Mixon. They found her in a dilapidated building in the outskirts of Samoset, which had been built as a tenement for the hands in a cotton-mill now burned. Hither Peter had conveyed his bride, when, flushed with eager love, she flew to his arms from the funeral of her cousin's child; and for a week he had treated her with the utmost consideration, having an eye to her money.

"The shekels naturally belong in the husband's hands," he said, "and you'd better let me take care of them. These banks are slippery things, and I've no confidence in those Samoset fellers anyway. I'll get it, and you can call on me for cash when you want it."

Whether her call would be answered was a question the foolish wife unfortunately forgot to consider; and into the rascal's pocket went the savings which Dr. Sanford had taken pains to have Bathalina lay by. Mixon's tenderness decreased in the same proportion as his bride's funds; and, when once he had obtained them all, the amiable Peter was amiable no longer. He began a course of reckless abuse, developing an imaginative ingenuity in the invention of curses and opprobrious epithets, which was wonderful to hear.

"I bore livin' with him as long as I could," Bathalina afterward confided to aunty Jeff; "but one day it was borne in upon me that I was unequally yoked with unbelievers, and I made up my mind, that, as it wasn't much of a marriage anyway, I wouldn't have no more to do with him. So I told him if he'd go over to Montfield, and ask Mis' Sanford would she take me back, I'd get out of his way, and he might marry 'Mandy West for what I cared."

The arrangements for Bathalina's return were easily concluded, and Mrs. Sanford and Will set out towards home once more. They drove rapidly, as the clouds were every moment becoming more threatening. Fate, however, had her purposes in their going, and interposed by breaking beneath the wheels of their carriage a decayed culvert. The buggy was overturned, mother and son being suddenly and unceremoniously tumbled in an undignified heap into the carriage-top. The horse stopped of his own will in spite of the alarming outcry of Mrs. Sanford, who moaned and shrieked, and wailed and lamented, while her son fished her from the wreck.

he remarked coolly.

"Will," his mother exclaimed, "do stop quoting things till we see if we are alive!"

A consultation ensued, if so it could be called where the lady refused to consult. Mrs. Sanford was far too plump to walk, and could hardly be expected to mount, and ride on horseback. There seemed no alternative but for her to remain where she was while her son went to the nearest farmhouse, a mile away, for a carriage.

When Will returned from his search, which was somewhat prolonged by the necessity of going to several places, his mother had disappeared. The cushions were piled up in the broken carriage; so he concluded that the lady's taking-off had not been violent, and followed the homeward road himself.

His way lay by Mullen House, the home of Ease Apthorpe and her aunt, Miss Tabitha Mullen. The mansion stood at some distance from the street, a stone wall surrounding the grounds. The principal entrance was an imposing gateway, whose iron gates were religiously closed at night, but stood open by day. As Sanford rode near, his eyes were greeted by a strange spectacle. In the gateway he saw Peter Mixon defending the passage against an angry woman, who, half crazed with drink or drugs, was loudly insisting upon entering. The woman's dark hair fell in tangled masses over her shoulders, and her handsome throat was bared by the neglect of her dress.

"I tell you I will go in!" she screamed, just as Will rode within hearing. "I will go in and claim my own, in spite of them! Get out of my way, or I'll kill you!"

She looked equal to the execution of her threat as she ended with a terrible oath, her eyes flashing, her bosom heaving, and her hands clinched. Mixon made some reply inaudible to young Sanford, evidently intended to soothe or cow the woman; but liquor had carried her beyond restraint.

"Putnam!" she vociferated scornfully. "What do I care for him! I'll cut his throat too, if I get hold of him! Get out of my way, or"—

At this instant the sound of Sanford's horse's feet attracted her attention, and she turned towards him. Mixon took advantage of the diversion to seize her by the arm, and hurry her away.

"Come along!" he said, with every appearance of confusion. "Don't you see who is coming?"

The woman stared, evidently not comprehending in the least who the new-comer was; but she allowed herself to be led away, swearing and threatening as she went.

Will at this moment recognized the woman as the one whom he had met driving towards Samoset with Tom Putnam.