and I've pointed out the error of your ways to you, and it's all no
good."

"Oh, be quiet, and don't talk nonsense," said his wife.

"Talking," continued Mr. Hatchard, "as I said before, is no good. Deeds,
not words, is what is wanted."

He rose suddenly from his chair and, taking one of the vases from the
mantelpiece, dashed it to pieces on the fender. Example is contagious,
and two seconds later he was in his chair again, softly feeling a rapidly
growing bump on his head, and gazing goggle-eyed at his wife.

[Illustration: Taking one of the vases from the mantelpiece, he dashed it
to pieces on the fender.]

"And I'd do it again," said that lady, breathlessly, "if there was
another vase."

Mr. Hatchard opened his mouth, but speech failed him. He got up and left
the room without a word, and, making his way to the scullery, turned on
the tap and held his head beneath it. A sharp intake of the breath
announced that a tributary stream was looking for the bump down the neck
of his shirt.

He was away a long time--so long that the half-penitent Mrs. Hatchard was
beginning to think of giving first aid to the wounded. Then she heard
him coming slowly back along the passage. He entered the room, drying
his wet hair on a hand-kerchief.