COMMUTER'S WIFE 341 



mine, only growling out that one woman is tor- 

 mentsome enough, but two's like the fire that never 

 quenches. 



" He hadn't passed a word with me since Sunday, 

 when to-day, me workin' by the window, he stops 

 and stands glowerin' in. I passes him the cup o' 

 broth, which he didn't touch at first till I called out, 

 for it burned my fingers ; and when he did, his hand 

 shook till some spilled over. 



" ' Whatever ails ye, man ? ' I calls, me grabbin' 

 to catch it, bein' inside pantry china that I'd 

 snatched up heedless. 



" ' I dinna ken, Martha Corkle, unless it's death 

 a-beckonin' me,' he said most doleful. Then I seed 

 my duty plain, which I never shirks, and I up and 

 says, ' Timothy Saunders, I know what ails you ; it 

 ain't death, it's marriage ! You needs a home to sit 

 in after hours, and good cooked victuals, and buttons 

 instead o' strings, and roomy flannels ; you needs a 

 sip o' hot Scotch well sweetened of a winter night, 

 and a fire o' yer own to take it by, shut from remark. 

 Tim'thy Saunders, you needs 'Ome Brewed! You 

 needs a wife ! ' 



"'It may be as you say, Martha Corkle,' he 

 says, meek-like, 'but there's not one as would take 

 Crumpled Tim, lest to make sport of him.' 



