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 round by the wood; and now he's going over the bridge. O father! make haste, and have some apple-dumpling.'

'Tom,' said his wife, as he came near, 'art tired today?'

'Uncommon tired,' said Tom, and he threw himself on the bench, in the shadow of the thatch.

'Has anything gone wrong?' asked his wife: 'what's the matter?'

'Matter?' repeated Tom, 'is anything the matter? The matter is this, mother, that I'm a miserable hardworked slave;' and he clapped his hands upon his knees, and muttered in a deep voice, which frightened the children—'a miserable slave!'

'Bless us!' said the wife, and could not make out what he meant.

'A miserable ill-used slave,' continued Tom, 'and always have been.'

'Always have been?' said his wife; 'why, father, I thought thou used to say, at the election time, that thou wast a free-born Briton?'

'Women have no business with politics,' said Tom, getting up rather sulkily. And whether it was the force of habit, or the smell of the dinner, that made him do it, has not been ascertained; but it is certain that he walked into the house, ate plenty of pork and greens, and then took a tolerable share in demolishing the apple-dumpling.

When the little children were gone out to play, his wife said to him, 'Tom, I hope thou and master haven't had words to-day?'

'Master,' said Tom, 'yes, a pretty master he has Rh