"But Mr. Higgins," I protested, "these photographs are faded, and they are not the Mrs. Higgins of to-day. Nobody wears that style of dress now, and she has actually a fringe! Throw them away, and do as I propose." "I see nowt wrong wi' 't," he replied, examining it critically. "She's fatter now, an' isn't as good lookin' ... more wrinkles, like.... Makes a nicer pictur, this does ... plenty good enough for 'er." "Mr. Higgins!" I exclaimed indignantly. "If--you--please--miss," he said emphatically, "it's me as gives the order ... one dozen, miss ... to match this 'ere." There was nothing more to be said, and I took two negatives of the wretched little man, in the first of which he is shown standing as erect as nature permits, with the silk hat fixed firmly upon his head, and one hand in his trousers' pocket, so that the white waistcoat might not be concealed; and in the second, sitting with one leg thrown over the other, and the silk hat upon his knee. It was in vain that I pointed out that neither pose would correspond with that of his wife, which was a mere vignetted head and shoulders; Barjona had made up his mind, and was not to be moved, and I felt thankful, with Mother Hubbard, that I was not Mrs. Higgins. I went out to speak to her when the operation had been completed, and at our approach the neighbours who had been keeping her company smiled and drew back a little. "Good-afternoon, Mrs. Higgins," I said. "I have already congratulated your husband; let me now wish you much happiness." "Well, now, to be sure, Miss Holden," she replied, and accompanying the words with a most decided wink, "that remains to be seen. But if he doesn't give me much, he'll 'ave less, I can tell you. I think we shall get on when we've settled down a bit; an' anyway, time won't hang as 'eavy on my 'ands, so to speak." "Come, lass, we must be going," interrupted Barjona, who had climbed up beside her. "As soon as ever I've finished," replied Mrs. Higgins, smiling upon him sweetly. Nevertheless, she tightened the reins and prepared to move. "I'll drive, lass," said Barjona, holding out his hand. "I'll keep 'em mysen, lad," replied his wife; "I've 'eld 'em all this time while t' mare was still: I'll 'old 'em now when she's on t' move. Come up, lass!" She threw me another portentous wink, and the mare moved slowly down the lane. "Poor Barjona!" murmured Mother Hubbard, as we sauntered back to the cottage. "I wonder if you are right," I remarked rather viciously. "I certainly hope you are. At present my sympathies lie in the other direction, and I am disposed to say 'Poor Maria!'" "Yes, love," said Mother Hubbard, "perhaps she has the worse of the bargain; but I think the old fox has got into a trap that is going to hold him very tight this time, and it will nip hard." "I hope it nips until he squeals," I said impenitently.