really mean it, my dear," said Mary penitently, though she
laughed still.

"I dare say not, but I've bin a-thinkin' 'tis a pity your pet bain't a
size or two smaller--he be sixteen hands if he be a inch--else maybe
ye'd like to have en in here a-layin' on the hearthrug."

Then husband and wife laughed long and loud, and their little
difference was forgotten as their eyes met.

THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM

On one particular Sunday in August, a brilliant sunny, breezeless day,
such a day as would under ordinary circumstances conduce to certain
drowsiness even in the most piously disposed, the church-goers of
Little Branston were preternaturally alert, if not quite so attentive
as usual. For behold! Corporal Richard Baverstock, Widow Baverstock's
only son, and the father of Matilda Ann, the three-year-old darling of
the village, had returned from the wars with a very brown face, a
medal, two or three honourable scars, and, it was whispered, a
pocketful of "dibs."

Every one knew about Corporal Dick, the sharp boy who had been the
general pet and plaything in early years, much as his own "Tilly Ann"
was now; the dashing soldier, whose occasional visits to his native
place in all the glories of uniform had caused on each occasion a
flutter of excitement which had endured long after his own departure;
the hero of romance, whose sudden appearance with a beautiful bride,
wedded secretly somewhere up the country, had made more than one
pretty maid's heart grow sore within her, and caused many wiseacres to
shake their heads; the disconsolate young widower whose year-old wife
had been laid to rest in the churchyard yonder, immediately after the
birth of their child; the boy-father, bending half wonderingly over
the blue-eyed baby on his mother's knee; the warrior, wounded "out
abroad," whose letters had been passed from hand to hand in the little
place, and conned over and admired and marvelled at till old Mrs.
Baverstock, when each mail came to hand, found herself raised to a
pinnacle of honour to which otherwise she would never have dared to
aspire--he had come home now for a brief blissful fortnight before
rejoining his regiment at the depot. Not one of the congregation there
present but had heard of his return on the previous day, and of how he
had almost knocked over the old mother in the vehemence of his
greeting, and how he had caught up Tilly Ann and hugged her, and some
said cried over her; and how he had al