personal sacrifice she could have made, yet I could not help smiling;
even my father did the same.

"Dost thee mock me, Abel Fletcher?" cried she angrily. "Preach not
to others while the sin lies on thy own head."

And I am sure poor Jael was innocent of any jocular intention, as
advancing sternly she pointed to her master's pate, where his
long-worn powder was scarcely distinguishable from the snows of age.
He bore the assault gravely and unshrinkingly, merely saying, "Woman,
peace!"

"Nor while"--pursued Jael, driven apparently to the last and most
poisoned arrow in her quiver of wrath--"while the poor folk be
starving in scores about Norton Bury, and the rich folk there will
not sell their wheat under famine price. Take heed to thyself, Abel
Fletcher."

My father winced, either from a twinge of gout or conscience; and
then Jael suddenly ceased the attack, sent the other servants out of
the room, and tended her master as carefully as if she had not
insulted him. In his fits of gout my father, unlike most men, became
the quieter and easier to manage the more he suffered. He had a long
fit of pain which left him considerably exhausted. When, being at
last relieved, he and I were sitting in the room alone, he said to
me--

"Phineas, the tan-yard has thriven ill of late, and I thought the
mill would make up for it. But if it will not it will not. Wouldst
thee mind, my son, being left a little poor when I am gone?"