But this evening was colder than any evening lately, by reason of that blusterous rising wind, which blew the rain-drops against the window-panes with as sharp a rattle as if they had been hailstones; and Mr.Whitelaw coming in presently, disconsolate and dripping, was by no means inclined to abide by his own decision about the fires.
"Why the -- -- haven't you got a fire here ?" he demanded savagely.
"It was your own wish, Stephen," answered Mrs.Tadman.
"My own fiddlesticks! Of course I didn't care to see my wood and coals burning to waste when the sun was shining enough to melt any one.

But when a man comes home wet to the skin, he doesn't want to come into a room like an ice-house.

Call the girl, and tell her to light a blazing fire while I go and change my clothes.

Let her bring plenty of wood, and put a couple of logs on top of the coals.

I'm frozen to the very bones driving home in the rain." Mrs.Tadman gave a plaintive sigh as she departed to obey her kinsman.
"That's just like Stephen," she said; "if it was you or me that wanted a fire, we might die of cold before we got leave to light one; but he never grudges anything for his own comfort!" Martha came and lighted a fire under Mrs.Tadman's direction.