“Indeed, I must implore you to return. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Her eyes were wide open with amazement. They had been married for well over one hundred years. “Have you not heard?” she said. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. The G. ‘Possibly,’ he said. She wanted to think.
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