“Ho, are they?” commented Mr. Pinner, much annoyed. “Ho, indeed.” “That’s all,” said his wife, putting down the paper. “All!” echoed the indignant fireman. “’Ow much more do you want? I’m in a nice ’ole, I don’t think. Seems to me I might as well be in quod as ’ere.” “You don’t know when you’re well off,” retorted his wife. Mr. Pinner sighed, and moved aimlessly about the room; then he resumed his chair, and, shaking his head slowly, lit his pipe. “You’ll be quite safe indoors,” said his wife, whose plan was now perfected. “The only thing is, people’ll wonder what you’re staying indoors all day for.” Mr. Pinner took his pipe out of his mouth and stared at her blankly. “Seems to me you want a reason for staying indoors,” she pursued. “Well, I’ve got one, ain’t I?” said the injured man. “Yes, but you can’t tell them that,” said his wife. “You want a reason everybody can understand and keep ’em from talking.” “Yes, all very fine for you to talk,” said Mr. Pinner; “if you could think of a reason it ’ud be more sensible.” Mrs. Pinner, who had got several ready, assumed an air of deep thoughtfulness, and softly scratched her cheek with her needle. “Whitewash the kitchen ceiling,” she said, suddenly. “’Ow long would that take?” demanded her lord, who was not fond of whitewashing. “Then you could put a bit of paper in this room,” continued Mrs. Pinner, “and put them shelves in the corner what you said you’d do. That would take some time.” “It would,” agreed Mr. Pinner, eyeing her disagreeably. “And I was thinking,” said his wife, “if I got a sugar-box from the grocer’s and two pairs o’ wheels you could make the baby a nice little perambulator.” “Seems to me——” began the astonished Mr. Pinner. “While you’re doing those things I’ll try and think of some more,” interrupted his wife. Mr. Pinner stared at her for some time in silence; finally he said “Thank’ee,” in a voice slightly tinged with emotion, and fell into a sullen reverie. “It’s the safest plan,” urged his wife, seriously; “there’s so many things want doing that it’s the most natural thing in the world for you to stay indoors doing them. Nobody’ll think it strange.” She stitched on briskly and watched her husband from the corner of her eye. He smoked on for some time, and rising at last with a sigh, sent her out for the materials, and spent the day whitewashing. He was so fatigued with the unwonted exertion that he was almost content to stay in that evening and smoke; but the following morning was so bright and inviting that his confinement appeared more galling than ever. Hoping for some miracle that should rescue him from these sordid tasks, he sent out for another paper. “It don’t say much about it,” said his wife. The baby was crying, the breakfast things were not washed, and there were several other hindrances to journalistic work. “Read it,” said the fireman, sternly.