from her, and
thought I would come and see you, and be introduced to the baby,--a boy,
I understand? Like you, Will?"

"No, sir, the picture of Jessie."

"Nonsense, Will; it is you all over, even to its little hands."

"And your good mother, Will, how did you leave her?"

"Oh, sir!" cried Jessie, reproachfully; "do you think we could have the
heart to leave Mother,--so lone and rheumatic too? She is tending baby
now,--always does while I am in the shop."

Here Kenelm followed the young couple into the parlour, where, seated by
the window, they found old Mrs. Somers reading the Bible and rocking the
baby, who slept peacefully in its cradle.

"Will," said Kenelm, bending his dark face over the infant, "I will
tell you a pretty thought of a foreign poet's, which has been thus badly
translated:

"'Blest babe, a boundless world this bed so narrow seems to thee;
Grow man, and narrower than this bed the boundless world shall
be.'"[1]

[1] Schiller.

"I don't think that is true, sir," said Will, simply; "for a happy home
is a world wide enough for any man."

Tears started into Jessie's eyes; she bent down and kissed--not the
baby, but the cradle. "Will made it." She added blushing, "I mean the
cradle, sir."

Time flew past while Kenelm talked with Will and the old mother, for
Jessie was soon summoned back to the shop; and Kenelm was startled when
he found the half-hour's grace allowed to him was over, and Jessie put
her head in at the door and said, "Mrs. Braefield is waiting for you."

"Good-by, Will; I shall come to see you again soon; and my mother gives
me a commission to buy I don't know how many specimens of your craft."

CHAPTER III.

A SMART pony-phaeton, with a box for a driver in livery equally smart,
stood at the shop-door.

"Now, Mr. Chillingly," said Mrs. Braefield, "it is my turn to run away
with you; get in!"

"Eh!" murmured Kenelm, gazing at her with large dreamy eyes. "Is it
possible?"

"Quite possible; get in. Coachman, home! Yes, Mr. Chillingly, you meet
again that giddy creature whom you threatened to thrash; it would have
served her right. I ought to feel so ashamed to recall myself to your
recollection, and yet I am not a bit ashamed. I am proud to show you
that I have turned out a steady, respectable woman, and, my husband
tells me, a good wife."

"You have only been six months married, I hear," said Kenelm, dryly. "I
hope your husband will say the same six years