"Shut thy mouth!" she said.
The works were set temporarily in motion, and her countenance slowly resumed its natural lines. She appeared to settle down all over and sink and become smaller, though, as she crouched nearer the fire, she had rather an evil look, which seemed to take its red glow into her confidence and secretly rage at it.
"What's tha been doin'?" Mrs. Briarley demanded of her better half. "Out wi' it!"
Mr. Briarley had already fallen into his favorite position. He had placed an elbow upon each knee and carefully supported his disheveled head upon his hands. He had also already begun to shed tears, which dropped and made disproportionately large circles upon the pipe-clayed floor.
"I'm a misforchnit chap," he said. "I'm a misforchnit chap, Sararann, as nivver had no luck."
"What's tha been doin'?" repeated Mrs. Briarley, with even greater sharpness than before; "out wi' it!"
"Nay," said Mr. Briarley, "that theer's what I've getten mysen i' trouble wi'. I wunnot do it again."
"Theer's summat i' beer," he proceeded, mournfully, "as goes agen a man. He towd me not to say nowt an' I did na mean to, but," with fresh pathos, "theer's summat i' beer as winds—as winds a chap up. I'm not mich o' th' speakin' loine, Sararann, but afore I knowed it, I wur a-makin' a speech—an' when I bethowt me an' wanted to set down—they wur bound to mak' me—go on to th' eend—an' when I would na theer wnr a good bit—o' public opinion igspressed—an' I did na stop—to bid 'em goodneet. Theer wur too much agoin' on."
"What wur it aw about?" asked Mrs. Briarley.
But Mr. Briarley's voice had been gradually becoming
