“Truly so,” said Batter; “he's the father of Nancy Warton's two children; you'll find his name on record; it's written on the bonds;--a confirmed bad one in respect of---” “Tinker,” said Sir Waldron, assuming a most formidable aspect, “I now recollect your _face_. Moreover, 1 have heard that you have not yet quitted your evil ways: you had an affair of a similar sort to that which Batter speaks of, last month, at the sessions.--Fie upon you, man! Venial as this sort of sin may appear to you, to me it seems most grave,--nearly unpardonable. Why not take a wife?” “That's just what I've said to him,” observed Doherty; “matrimony is the best of money,--it's pure felicity.” “Are you married, fellow?” inquired Sir Waldron, who felt by no means pleased at the Irishman's interruption. “Is it married, your worship?” replied Darby; “faith! then, I am, every inch of me.” “And where's your wife?” “Why, then, I left her this morning eleven miles hence.” “What, you've deserted her, eh?” “Oh! quite the contrary;--I ran away from her,--we agreed to come different roads; for, to tell you the truth, Mistress Doherty has a tongue: but that says nothing; may be your honour's own wife has one too.” “I have no wife, sirrah!” “Well! God help you, then! that's all I say.--Though we quarrelled last night, I'd be mighty glad to see Mistress Doherty to-day,--so I would: I wonder she hasn't come. I'll tell you how it was, and you'll judge who did wrong.--We got a fi'penny bed at a road-side house; and when such a case occurs, which isn't often, Mistress Doherty is all for getting as much as she can for her money; so, if I'd let her, she'd go to bed at eight o'clock, and lie till twelve or one the next day, or make me and the child do so: but no, I don't like going to bed at night over soon then, so I don't,--but I'll lie a-bed as long as one here and there, the next morning; for then's the time, if one has such a thing, when a bed's pleasant. Well then, Mistress Doherty, having some places to patch in her coat, bid me go to bed before her, so that I might get up early, and tramp to the revel with her,--just as Dobbin and Joan would, but I wouldn't never mind why. Says she--says Mistress Doherty, 'Go to bed, Darby, or the child will be perished with cold; go to bed and warm him, Darby, while I put a patch on my coat but I wouldn't; so then she got in her tantarums; I was obstinate, and we quarrelled.” “Ay, ay! I understand,” said the tinker, who had not spoken before, “she wanted to beat you to nest, as the hen-pigeon doth the cock, when he loiters; it's natural,--yea, nature all over.”