Comes the lord and master home sulky or in fury, the wise
wife will meet him with a demeanour so spiked that he may scratch his
itching at every turn. To be soft and yielding is the most fatal
conduct; it is to send the lumbering bull crashing through the gate-
post into the lane to seek solace away from the home paddock.
Unversed in these homely recipes, this simple Mary had at least the
wit not to cry "Oh!" in pain and move her hand. They found a seat, and
for good five minutes this turbulent George sat and threshed in his
wrath like a hooked shark--this little hand the rope that held him.
Soon its influence was felt. His tuggings and boundings grew weaker.
The venom oozed out of him.
He uncovered the crushed fingers; raising, pressed them to his lips.
He groaned. "Now you know me at last."
She patted those brown hands; did not speak.
"You know the awful temper I've got," he went on. "Uncontrollable--
angry even with you--foul brute--"
"But I annoyed you, Georgie."
He flung out an accusatory hand against himself. "How? By being sweet
and loving! Why, what a brute I must be!"
She told him: "You shan't call yourself names. In fact, you mustn't.
Because that is calling me names too. We belong, Georgie."
The pretty sentiment tickled him. Gloom flew from his brow before
sunshine that took its place.
Pages:
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189