The roof of George’s house had a kind of depression or well in the middle of it, whence ran a rainwater pipe, which passed down inside, and so, under the floor, to the soft-water cistern. A bad piece of construction, thought he, and he wished, if he could have done so, to improve it; but there was no way of altering it without pulling the whole place to pieces. One day, a very short time after the talk about Free Trade, a fearful storm of rain broke over Cowfold, and he was startled by Ellen, his servant, running into the shop and telling him that the staircase was flooded, and missis wanted him at once. He put on his coat and was off in a moment. When he got there Priscilla met him at the door crying, and in a great fright. The well up aloft was full of water, and it was pouring in torrents through the little window. It had gone through the floor of the bedroom and into the dining-room, pulling down with it about half the ceiling, which lay in a horrid mess upon the dining table and the carpet, George saw in an instant what was the matter. He ran up the steps to the well, pulled out a quantity of straw and dirt which blocked up the entrance to the pipe; the water disappeared in two minutes, and all further danger was arrested. “Why on earth,” he cried in half a passion, “did not you think to clear away the rubbish, instead of wasting your time in sending for me? It ought to have entered into anybody’s head to do such a simple thing as that.” “How was I to know?” replied Mrs. George. “I am not an ironmonger. What have I to do with pipes? You shouldn’t have had such a thing.” Ellen stood looking at the wreck. “We don’t want you;” said George savagely; “go into the kitchen,” and he shut the dining-room door. There the husband and wife stood face to face with one another, with the drip, drip, drip still proceeding, the ruined plaster, and the spoilt furniture. “I don’t care,” he broke out, “one brass farthing for it all; but what I do care for is that you should not have had the sense to unstop that pipe.”