A war of words between an elderly woman, who may be taunted with her years, her jealousy, her lack of children, teeth, and comeliness, and a young woman, who may be charged with many sins, is at best a painful thing to witness, and a shameful thing to describe. Suffice it to say, that the elder lady was completely discomfited, and that long after she was extinguished, the girl continued to pour upon her the vials of her wrath. The whole village meanwhile--all the women, and such of the men as were too old for work--crowded round, taking part in the contest. Finally, the wife, stung by words whose bitterness was embittered by their truth, cried aloud, taking the bystanders to witness, that the husband for whose sake, she said, she had endured patiently the falsehoods and accusations of yonder hussy, was nothing better than a beater, a striker, a kicker, a trampler, and a cuffer of his wife. 'I've borne it long,' she cried, 'but I will bear it no longer. To prison he shall go. If I _am_ an old woman, and like to die, you shall never have him--do you hear? To prison he shall go, and for life.' At these words a dead silence fell on all. The blacksmith stood still, saying not a word, leaning on his hammer. Then his wife spoke again, but slowly. 'Last night,' she said, 'he dragged me round the room by the hair of my head; this morning he knocked me down with his fist; and last Sunday, after church, he kicked me off my chair; yesterday fortnight he beat me with a poker----' 'Lies! _lies!!_ LIES!!!' cried Susan. 'Tom say they are lies.' Tom shook his head but spoke never a word. 'Tom!' she cried again, 'they will take you to prison; say they are lies.' Then he spoke. 'I would rather go to prison.' 'Don't believe her,' Susan cried. 'Don't believe her. Why, she's got no hair to be pulled.... Don't ... Oh! oh! oh!' She burst into an agony of weeping. The women clamoured round the group,--some for justice, because wife-beating is an awful sin; some for mercy, because this woman was in her fits of wrath a most notorious liar, and not a soul believed her accusations. It was in the midst of this altercation that there arrived on the scene, from opposite points, Lord Chester with Harry, and two of the rural police. 'Take him into custody,' gasped the blacksmith's wife. 'Take him to prison. Oh, the wretch! oh, the wife-beater! oh, I am beaten to a jelly--I am bruised black and blue!' Lord Chester stepped before the unhappy blacksmith. 'Stay!' he said to the policewomen. 'Not so fast. Tom, what do you say?' he asked the blacksmith. 'I never laid hand on her,' said the unhappy man. 'But all's one for that. I suppose I'll have to go to prison, my lord. Anyhow, there can't be no prison worse than this life. I'm glad and happy to be rid of her.'