Mrs Prothero once more left the barn, promising to return shortly, and,
with trembling steps, again sought the apartment where her lord and
master was reposing. A very decided snore met her ear. She stood by the
bedside, and looked at the tassel, which was the only portion visible of
her better half. She sat down on a chair; she got up again; she fussed
about the room; she even opened the drawers and took out the Sunday
attire of that Somnus before her. But nothing she could do would arouse
him.

At last she gently touched the face. A louder snore was the only reply.
She gave a nervous push to the shoulder, and whispered into the
bed-clothes, 'My dear.'

'Well, what now?' growled the justly irritated sleeper.

'My dear, I am very sorry, but the poor girl is too ill to move, and I
really don't know what is to be done.'

'Upon my very deed, if you are not enough to provoke a saint!' broke out
Mr Prothero, now fairly sitting up in bed. 'If you will encourage
vagrants, get rid of 'em, and don't bother me. I'll tell you what it is,
Mrs Prothero, if all of 'em are not off the farm before I'm up, I'll
give 'em such a bit of my mind as 'll keep 'em away for the future; see
if I don't.'

Mrs Prothero saw that her husband was redder in the face than usual, and
she had a very great dread of putting him in a passion; still she
ventured one word more very meekly.