ding. I couldn't say that of some of the shackling
things they've been putting up around the village."

When they entered the house it became more and more evident that the
"shabby" days of the Morris mansion were numbered. There were men at
work in almost every room.

Ham's wedding-trip would surely give plenty of time, at that rate, for
an immense amount of "mending;" and his house would be, as the widow had
promised, "all ready for him on his return."

There was nothing wonderful to Dabney in the idea of his mother going
about and inspecting work, and finding fault, and giving directions. He
had never seen her do any thing else, and he had the greatest confidence
in her knowledge and ability. He noticed too, before they left the
place, that the customary farm-work was going ahead with even more
regularity and energy than if the owner himself had been present.

"Ham's farm'll look something like ours, one of these days," he said,
"if things go on at this rate."

"I mean it shall," replied his mother, a little sharply. "Now go and get
out the ponies, and we'll do the rest of our errands."

Dab started for the barn at a half trot; for, if there was one thing he
liked better than another, it was to have the reins in his hands and
that pair of ponies before him. Time had been when Mrs. Kinzer did her
own driving, and only permitted Dab to "hold the horses" while she made
her calls, business or otherwise; but that day had been safely put away
among Dab's unpleasant memories for a good while.

It was but a few minutes before the neat buggy held the widow and her
son, and the ponies were taking them briskly down the road towards the
village.

It they had only known it, at that very moment Ham Morris and his
blooming bride were setting out for a drive, at the fashionable
watering-place where they had made their first stop in their
wedding-tour.

"Ham," said Miranda, "it seems to me as if we were a thousand miles from
home."

"We shall be a good deal farther before we get any nearer," said Ham.

"But I wonder what they are doing there, this morning,--mother, and the
girls, and dear little Dabney."

"Little Dabney!" exclaimed Ham, with a queer sort of laugh on his face.
"Why, Miranda, do you think Dab is a baby yet?"

"No, not a baby, but"--

"Well, he's a boy, that's a fact; but he'll be as tall as I am in three
years."

"Will he? Do you think so? But will he ever get fat?"

"Not till after he gets his ful