"A bad day's work for _her_, I reckon."

It struck me at the moment as a moral reflection of Eli's, and no
more. Late in the afternoon, however, I was enlightened.


In the midst of the Fair, about four o'clock, a din of horns, beaten
kettles, and hideous yelling, broke out in Troy. I met the crowd in
the main street, and for a moment felt afraid of it. They had seized
the woman in the taproom of the "Man-o'-War"--where the gamekeeper
was lying in a drunken sleep--and were hauling her along in a Ram
Riding. There is nothing so cruel as a crowd, and I have seen
nothing in my life like the face of These-an'-That's wife. It was
bleeding; it was framed in tangles of black, dishevelled hair; it was
livid; but, above all, it was possessed with an awful fear--a horror
it turned a man white to look on. Now and then she bit and fought
like a cat: but the men around held her tight, and mostly had to drag
her, her feet trailing, and the horns and kettles dinning in her
wake.

There lay a rusty old ducking-cage among the lumber up at the
town-hall; and some fellows had fetched this down, with the poles and
chain, and planted it on the edge of the Town Quay, between the
American Shooting Gallery and the World-Renowned Swing Boats.
To this they dragged her, and strapped her fast.

There is no heed to describe what followed. Even the virtuous women
who stood and applauded would like to forget it, perhaps. At the
third souse, the rusty pivot of the ducking-pole broke, and the cage,