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 I ordered a pair of chickens for dinner, and directed poor Little Johnny how to prepare them. Without remonstrance she went willingly at the task; but before the chickens were ready for cooking, señor, the husband, returned.

I was watching with bated breath, feeling sure there would be a tempest. He did not intend I should witness the dénoûment, but I was determined to see the fun.

Without speaking audibly, he passed by where she was standing, wrenched from her hands the partly dressed fowls, and in a moment more disappeared in the corral.

I took another route to find my chickens, and instinct led me to the spot. On going to the carriage-house, I found them with strong cords tied around their necks, suspended from the old vehicle. By hanging the poor dead chickens, he retaliated for my presumption in directing his wife to prepare them without his consent and in his absence.

My curiosity next led me to see whether he had hanged his wife, or was erecting a gallows for me. Searching about the garden and out-houses, I found the couple in an unfrequented walk. She was wringing her hands and crying, while he stood bolt upright, bestowing upon her every severe expression and word of chastisement at his command. His jetty, straight hair stood up all over his head, his eyes glittered with rage, his brown lips were white, and his teeth champed viciously! All this was accompanied by the popping of his fists together, in the most effective manner. Every time this tragic part of the