It would be doing injustice to the feelings of Mr. Bolton to say, that he did not feel some emotions of regret for his precipitate action.  But, having assumed so decided a position in the matter, he could not think of retracing a step that he had taken.  Hasty and positive men are generally weak-minded, and this weakness usually shows itself in a pride of consistency.  If they say a thing, they will persevere in doing it, right or wrong, for fear that others may think them vacillating, or, what they really are, weak-minded.  Just such a man was Mr. Bolton.

“I’ve said it, and I’ll do it!” That was one of his favourite expressions.  And he repeated it to himself, now, to drive off the repentant feelings that came into his mind.

At dinner-time, when Mr. Bolton sat down to the table, he found, placed just before him, a print of the golden butter sent to his wife on that very morning by Mrs. Halpin.  The sight annoyed and reproved him.  He felt that he had been hasty, unneighbourly, and, it might be, unjust; for, as little gleams of reflection came breaking in one after another upon his mind, he saw that a right of way for Mr. Halpin was indispensable, and that if his deed gave it to him, it was a right of which he could not deprive him without acting unjustly.  Passion and false reasonings would, it is true, quickly darken his mind again.  But they had, in turn, to give place to more correct views and feelings.

“Just try some of that butter.  It is delicious!” said Mrs. Bolton, soon after they were seated at the table.

“I don’t care about butter at dinner-time,” replied Mr. Bolton, coldly.

“But just try some of this.  I want you to taste it,” urged the wife.  “Its flavour is delightful.  I must go over and see Mrs. Halpin’s dairy.”

To satisfy his wife, Mr. Bolton took some of the butter on his plate.  He would rather have thrown it out of the window.

“Now try it on a piece of bread,” said Mrs. Bolton.  “I declare!  You act as if you were afraid of the butter.  What’s the matter with you?”

There was no reason why Mr. Bolton should not do as his wife wished—­at least no reason that he could give to her.  It wouldn’t do to say—­

“I won’t touch Mrs. Halpin’s butter because I’ve cut off her husband’s right of way across my land.  I have nailed up the only outlet there is from his property to the public road.”

No, it wouldn’t do to say that.  So, nothing was left for Mr. Bolton but to taste the delicious butter.

“Isn’t it very fine?” said his wife, as she saw him place it to his lips.

“Yes, it’s good butter,” replied Mr. Bolton, “very good butter.”  Though, in fact, it was far from tasting pleasant to him.

“It’s more than very good,” said Mrs. Bolton, impatiently.  “What has come over you?  But wait a little (sic) wwile, and I’ll give you something to quicken your palate.  I’ve made some curds—­you are so fond of them.  If you don’t praise the sweet cream Mrs. Halpin so kindly sent over this morning, when you come to eat these curds, I shall think—­I don’t know what I shall think.”