April 9.--Commenced the morning badly. The butcher, whom we
decided NOT to arrange with, called and blackguarded me in the most
uncalled-for manner. He began by abusing me, and saying he did not
want my custom. I simply said: "Then what are you making all this
fuss about it for?" And he shouted out at the top of his voice, so
that all the neighbours could hear: "Pah! go along. Ugh! I could
buy up 'things' like you by the dozen!"

I shut the door, and was giving Carrie to understand that this
disgraceful scene was entirely her fault, when there was a violent
kicking at the door, enough to break the panels. It was the
blackguard butcher again, who said he had cut his foot over the
scraper, and would immediately bring an action against me. Called
at Farmerson's, the ironmonger, on my way to town, and gave him the
job of moving the scraper and repairing the bells, thinking it
scarcely worth while to trouble the landlord with such a trifling
matter.

Arrived home tired and worried. Mr. Putley, a painter and
decorator, who had sent in a card, said he could not match the
colour on the stairs, as it contained Indian carmine. He said he
spent half-a-day calling at warehouses to see if he could get it.
He suggested he should entirely repaint the stairs. It would cost
very little more; if he tried to match it, he could only make a bad
job of it. It would be more satisfactory to him and to us to have
the work done properly. I consented, but felt I had been talked
over. Planted some mustard-and-cress and radishes, and went to bed
at nine.