ence with her system, improved him into a well-behaved child,
as well as the healthiest and most beautiful in all that countryside.
It was a standing grievance at Redford that she would not allow him to
be always on show there, subject to Mary's indulgence, and Deb's
caprices, and the temptations of the housekeeper's store-room. Only Mr
Kelsey, who was his idol, was permitted to withdraw him from Mrs
Kelsey's eye. The man used to take the child, with a toy whip in his
little hand, on the saddle before him, and let him think he was guiding
the steady horse and doing all the business of the station as well. The
overseer confessed, in bad weather, when he had to ride alone, that he
was lost without his little mate. "Hardly weaned," he used to brag,
"and knows every beast on the place as well as I do myself." This was
gross exaggeration, yet was the infant Harry a conspicuously forward
child, with the "makings of a man" in him visible to all. His hearty
whoas and gee-ups carried as far as the overseer's gruff voice; and the
picture of the jolly boy, with his rosy, joyous face, and his fair
curls blowing in the wind, was one to kindle the admiration of all who
saw it. The phrase continually on the lips of his adopted family and
connections was: 'Won't his father be surprised when he sees him!' They
enjoyed in anticipation the grateful praises that would be heaped upon
them then.

But Guthrie Carey never saw his son again.

The baby went a-visiting with his foster-parents to the local township,
and it was supposed caught the infection of typhoid there from some
unknown source. Having caught it, the robust little body, unused to any
ailment, was wrecked at once, where a frail child might easily have
weathered the storm. No little prince of blood royal could have been
better nursed and more strenuously fought for; but three days after he
had visibly sickened he was dead. And then the wail went up, "Oh! what
will his father say?"

When Guthrie came, prepared by letters from fellow-mourners as bereaved
as himself, it was but from one day to the next--only to "hear the
particulars" and to see the little grave. Deborah was away from home,
but in any case Mary would have been the one to perform the sad duties
of the occasion; they were hers by right. She took him to the family
cemetery on the only evening of his stay, and, herself speechless and
weeping, showed him the whole place renovated and made beautiful for
the sake of the