"He, he, he!"

"He, he, he! you pitiful 'natomy," cried Mrs Forster, in a rage, turning
to the clerk, as she dared not revenge herself upon the curate. "Take
that for your He, he, he!" and she swung round the empty pewter pot,
which she snatched from the table, upon the bald pericranium of Mr
Spinney, who tumbled off his chair, and rolled upon the sanded floor.

The remainder of the party were on their legs in an instant. Newton
jerked the weapon out of his mother's hands, and threw it in a corner of
the room. Nicholas was aghast; he surmised that his turn would come
next; and so it proved--"An't you ashamed of yourself, Mr Forster, to see
me treated in this way--bringing a parcel of drunken men into the house to
insult me? Will you order them out, or not, sir?--Are we to have quiet or
not?"

"Yes, my love," replied Nicholas, confused, "yes, my dear, by-and-bye as
soon as you're--"

Mrs Forster darted towards her husband with the ferocity of a mad cat.
Hilton, perceiving the danger of his host, put out his leg so as to trip
her up in her career, and she fell flat upon her face on the floor. The
violence of the fall was so great, that she was stunned. Newton raised
her up; and, with the assistance of his father (who approached with as
much reluctance as a horse spurred towards a dead tiger), carried her
upstairs, and laid her on her bed.

Poor Mr Spinney was now raised from the floor. He still remained
stupefied with the blow, although gradually recovering. Betsy came in to