look what wives and mothers they made! Pokey married three times, and
was the mother of fourteen children, nine of them sons. And are we any
better off now than then, I ask? Whoever heard of a woman running away
from her husband before the war, and now here is poor Jane--"

"But it isn't my fault, Uncle Meriweather!" cried Jane, in desperation
at his obtuseness. "I've tried to be the best wife I could--ask Charley
if I haven't. He neglected me long before I let any one know--even
mother. I forgave him again and again, and I'd go on forgiving him
forever if he would let me. I've told him over and over that I was going
to be a faithful wife to him if he killed me."

"Of course, my dear, I'm not meaning to reproach you," said Uncle
Meriweather, overcome by the effect of his words. "We all know that
you've stood as much as any woman could and keep her self-respect. It
isn't possible, I suppose, for you to go on living with Charley?"

"Oh, I couldn't bear a separation, not a legal one at any rate," groaned
Mrs. Carr. "Of course she must come away for a time, but nobody must
hear of it or it would kill me. They are one in the sight of God, and my
dear old father had such a horror of separations."

"Well, I'd kick him out--I'd kick him out so quickly he wouldn't know
it," declared Jimmy. "If a daughter of mine were married to that scamp,
she'd never lay eyes on him except over my dead body. I reckon God would
enjoy the sight of his getting his deserts."

Deep down in Cousin Jimmy, deeper than sentiment, deeper than tradition,
deeper even than the solid bedrock of common sense, there was the
romantic essence of his soul, which hated baseness with a fiery hatred.