She looked up as she heard his footsteps, and
then, without a word, slid from the chair full length to the floor.
"Go on," said Mr. Blows, bitterly; "keep it up. Don't mind me."
Mrs. Blows paid no heed; her face was white and her eyes were closed.
Her husband, with a dawning perception of the state of affairs, drew a
mug of water from the tap and flung it over her. She opened her eyes and
gave a faint scream, and then, scrambling to her feet, tottered toward
him and sobbed on his breast.
"There, there," said Mr. Blows. "Don't take on; I forgive you."
"Oh, John," said his wife, sobbing convulsively, "I thought you was dead.
I thought you was dead. It's only a fortnight ago since we buried you!"
"Buried me?" said the startled Mr. Blows. "Buried me?"
"I shall wake up and find I'm dreaming," wailed Mrs. Blows; "I know I
shall. I'm always dreaming that you're not dead. Night before last I
dreamt that you was alive, and I woke up sobbing as if my 'art would
break."
"Sobbing?" said Mr. Blows, with a scowl. "For joy, John," explained his
wife.
Mr. Blows was about to ask for a further explanation of the mystery when
he stopped, and regarded with much interest a fair-sized cask which stood
in one corner.
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