“‘Suthin’ hes happened over there,’ said his nearest neighbour, peering out of the window.  ‘Mebbe they’ve fit an’ disabled each other.’

“‘You’d better go an’ rap on the door,’ said his wife.

“He started, halting at his gate and looking over at the house of mystery.  While he stood there, the door of the money-lender opened a little, and a head came out beckoning for help.  He hurried to the door, that swung open as he came near it.

“‘Heavens!’ said he, ‘What is the matter?’

“Brown stood behind the door, in a gown of figured calico, his feet bare, his shock of gray hair dishevelled.  The gown was a poor fit, stopping just below the knees.

“‘That woman!’ he gasped, sinking into a chair and making an angry gesture with his fist.  ‘That woman has got every pair o’ breeches in the house.’

“His wife appeared in the rusty, familiar garments of the money-lender.

“‘He tried to humble me this morning,’ said she, ‘an’ I humbled him.  He began to order me around, an’ I told him I wouldn’t hev it.  “Then,” says he, “you better put on the breeches an’ I’ll put on the dress.”  “Very well,” says I, and grabbed the breeches, an’ give him the dress.  I know ye, Brown; ye’ll never abuse me.’

“‘I’ll get a divorce—­I’ll have the law on ye,’ said the old man, angrily, as he walked the floor in his gown of calico.

“‘Go on,’ said she.  ‘Go to the lawyer now.’

“‘Will ye git me a pair o’ breeches?’

“‘No; I took yer offer, an’ ye can’t have ’em ’til ye’ve done the work that goes with the dress.  Come, now, I want my dinner.’

“‘I can’t find a stitch in the house,’ said he, turning to his neighbour.  ‘I wish ye’d bring me some clothes.’

“The caller made no reply, but came away smiling, and told of Brown’s dilemma.

“‘It’s good for him,’ said the neighbour’s wife.  ’Don’t ye take him any clothes.  He’s bullied three wives to death, an’ now I’m glad he’s got a wife that can bully him.’

“Brown waited long, but no help arrived.  The wife was firm and he very hungry.  She called him ’wife’—­a title not calculated to soothe a man of his agility and vigour.  He galloped across the room at her, yelling as he brandished a poker.  She quickly took it away and drove him into a corner.  He had taken up the poker and now seemed likely to perish by it.  Then, going to the stove with this odd weapon, she stuck its end in the fire, and Brown had no sooner flung a wash-basin across the room at her head than she ran after him with the hot poker.  Then, calling for help, he ran around the stove and out of doors like a wild man, his dress of calico and his long hair flying in the breeze.  Pedestrians halted, men and women came out of their homes.  The bare feet of the money-lender were flying with great energy.

“‘She’s druv him crazy,’ a man shouted.

“‘An’ knocked the socks off him,’ said another.