Her husband ate humble pie that night before ever he set fork in the cold meat: and for some days after, though she kept a close eye on him, he showed no further sign of wanting to be lord of creation. "Nothing like promptness," thought Sally to herself. "If I hadn't taken that nonsense in hand straight off, there's no telling where it wouldn't have spread." By the end of the week following she had put all uneasiness out of her mind. Next Saturday--as her custom was on Saturdays--she traded in Plymouth, and didn't reach home until an hour or more past nightfall, having waited on the Barbican for the evening fish-auction, to see how prices were ruling. 'Twas near upon ten o'clock before she'd moored her boat, and as she went up the street past the "Fish and Anchor" she heard something that fetched her to a standstill. She stood for a minute, listening; then walked in without more ado, set down her baskets in the passage, and pushed open the door of the bar-room. There was a whole crowd of men gathered inside, and the place thick with tobacco-smoke. And in the middle of this crew, with his back to the door, sat her husband piping out a song: Ye sexes, give ear to my fancy; In the praise of good women I sing; It is not of Doll, Kate, or Nancy, The mate of a clown nor a King-- With my fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay! Old Adam, when he was creyated, Was lord of the Universe round; Yet his happiness was not complated Until that a helpmate he'd found. With my fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay! He had all things for food that was wanting, Which give us content in this life; He had horses and foxes for hunting, Which many love more than a wife,-- He had sung so far and was waving his pipe-stem for the chorus when the company looked up and saw Sal straddling in the doorway with her fists on her hips. The sight daunted them for a moment: but she held up a finger, signing them to keep the news to themselves, and leaned her shoulder against the doorpost with her eyes steady on the back of her husband's scrag neck. His fate was upon him, poor varmint, and on he went, as gleeful as a bird in a bath: He'd a garden so planted by natur' As man can't produce in this life; But yet the all-wise great Creaytor Perceived that he wanted a wife.-- With his fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay! "You chaps might be a bit heartier with the chorus," he put in. "A man would almost think you was afraid of your wives overhearin':" Old Adam was laid in a slumber, And there he lost part of his side; And when he awoke in great wonder He beyeld his beyeautiful bride. _With_ my fol-de-rol, tooral-- "Why, whatever's wrong with 'ee all? You're as melancholy as a passel of gib-cats." And with that he caught the eye of a man seated opposite, and slewed slowly round to the door.