t the plague of the thing is, nobody could
drive a carriage there tonight, but _me_."

"Why not? Cudjoe is an excellent driver."

"Ay, ay, but here it is. The creek has to be crossed twice; and the
second crossing is quite dangerous, unless one knows it as I do. I have
crossed it a hundred times on horseback, and know exactly the turns to
take. And so, you see, there's no help for it. Cudjoe must put in the
horses, as quietly as may be, about twelve o'clock, and I'll take her
over; and then, to give color to the matter, he must carry me on to the
next tavern to take the stage for Columbus, that comes by about three or
four, and so it will look as if I had had the carriage only for that.
I shall get into business bright and early in the morning. But I'm
thinking I shall feel rather cheap there, after all that's been said and
done; but, hang it, I can't help it!"

"Your heart is better than your head, in this case, John," said the
wife, laying her little white hand on his. "Could I ever have loved you,
had I not known you better than you know yourself?" And the little
woman looked so handsome, with the tears sparkling in her eyes, that
the senator thought he must be a decidedly clever fellow, to get such a
pretty creature into such a passionate admiration of him; and so, what
could he do but walk off soberly, to see about the carriage. At the
door, however, he stopped a moment, and then coming back, he said, with
some hesitation.

"Mary, I don't know how you'd feel about it, but there's that drawer
full of things--of--of--poor little Henry's." So saying, he turned
quickly on his heel, and shut the door after him.

His wife opened the little bed-room door adjoining her room and, taking
the candle, set it down on the top of a bureau there; then from a small
recess she took a key, and put it thoughtfully in the lock of a drawer,
and made a sudden pause, while two boys, who, boy like, had followed
close on her heels, stood looking, with silent, significant glances, at
their mother. And oh! mother that reads this, has there never been in
your house a drawer, or a closet, the opening of which has been to you
like the opening again of a little grave? Ah! happy mother that you are,
if it has not been so.

Mrs. Bird slowly opened the drawer. There were little coats of many a
form and pattern, piles of aprons, and rows of small stockings; and even
a pair of little shoes, worn and rubbed at the toes, were peeping
from the fol