farmer had never heard of the camel who first got his head into the tent, but
it gradually dawned upon him that he was half supporting the whole Irish tribe
down at the shanty. Every evening, while he shivered in his best room, he was
compelled to hear the coarse jests and laughter in the adjacent apartment.
One night his bitter thoughts found expression: "I might as well open a free
house for the keeping of man and beast."

He had endured this state of affairs for some time simply because the woman
did the essential work in her offhand, slapdash style, and left him unmolested
to his brooding as long as he did not interfere with her ideas of domestic
economy. But his impatience and the sense of being wronged were producing a
feeling akin to desperation. Every week there was less and less to sell from
the dairy; chickens and eggs disappeared, and the appetites of those who
dropped in to "kape Bridgy from bein' a bit lonely" grew more voracious.

Thus matters had drifted on until this March day when he had taken two calves
to market. He had said to the kitchen potentate that he would take supper
with a friend in town and therefore would not be back before nine in the
evening. This friend was the official keeper of the poorhouse and had been a
crony of Holcroft's in early life. He had taken to politics instead of
farming, and now had attained to what he and his acquaintances spoke of as a
"snug berth." Holcroft had maintained with this man a friendship based partly
on business relations, and the well-to-do purveyor for paupers always gave his
old playmate an honest welcome to his private supper table, which differed
somewhat from that spread for the town's pensioners.

On this occasion the gathering storm had decided Holcroft to return without
availing himself of his friend's hospitality, and he is at last entering the
lane leading from the highway to his doorway. Even as he approaches his
dwelling he hears the sound of revelry and readily guesses what is taking