horse and we sped along to New Dublin. Pat soon
stopped crying, but he looked at me with a tear-stained and reproachful
visage.

The good women of the settlement were surprised to see little Pat return
so soon.

"An' wasn't he good?" said Mrs. Hogan as she took him from my hands.

"Oh, yes!" I said. "He was as good as he could be. But I have no further
need of him."

I might have been called upon to explain this statement, had not the
whole party of women, who stood around burst into wild expressions of
delight at Pat's beautiful clothes.

"Oh! jist look at 'em!" cried Mrs. Duffy. "An' see thim leetle
pittycoots, thrimmed wid lace! Oh, an' it was good in ye, sir, to give
him all thim, an' pay the foive dollars, too."

"An' I'm glad he's back," said the fostering aunt, "for I was a coomin'
over to till ye that I've been hearin' from owle Pat, his dad, an' he's
a coomin' back from the moines, and I don't know what he'd a' said if
he'd found his leetle Pat was rinted. But if ye iver want to borry him,
for a whoile, after owle Pat's gone back, ye kin have him, rint-free;
an' it's much obloiged I am to ye, sir, fur dressin' him so foine."

I made no encouraging remarks as to future transactions in this line,
and drove slowly home.

Euphemia met me at the door. She had Pomona's baby in her arms. We
walked together into the parlor.

"And so you have given up the little fellow that you were going to do so
much for?" she said.

"Yes, I have given him up," I answered.

"It must have been a dreadful trial to you," she continued.

"Oh, dreadful!" I replied.

"I suppose you thought he would take up so much of your time and
thoughts, that we couldn't be to each other what we used to be, didn't
you?" she said.

"Not exactly," I replied. "I only thought that things promised to be
twice as bad as they were before."

She made no answer to this, but going to the back door of the parlor she
opened it and called Pomona. When that young woman appeared, Euphemia
stepped toward her and said: "Here, Pomona, take your baby."

They were simple words, but they were spoken in such a way that they
meant a good deal. Pomona knew what they meant. Her eyes sparkled, and
as she went out, I saw her hug her child to her breast, and cover it
with kisses, and then, through the window, I could see her running to
the barn and Jonas.

"Now, then," said Euphemia, closing the door and coming toward me, with
one of her old smiles, and not a