w's needed a jar and
needed it badly. But it wasn't the church that got the jar.

Upon the introduction of Gip into the family circle, it was conceded
that there was no longer any reason why mammy should resign the benefits
of communal worship. Consequently, with many a grunt,--for good food and
better air had well nigh doubled her proportions,--mammy climbed from
the veranda to the back seat of the cart and filled it. For a moment it
seemed doubtful whether mammy or Gip would hold the ground, but Gip
finally won out by clawing rapidly at the pebbly road and getting the
advantage of the down grade.

Neither Natalie nor Mrs. Leighton ever knew just where it was they lost
mammy, but it couldn't have been far from the gate; for just as they
were dipping into the wood half-way down the hill, Mrs. Leighton
happened to glance back, missed mammy, and saw her stocky form waddling
across the lawn toward the back of the house. Mrs. Leighton was also
young inside. She said nothing.

When finally they drew up, with the assistance of three broad-shouldered
swains, at the church, Natalie looked back and gasped,

"Mammy! Mother, where's mammy?"

"You don't suppose she could have got off to pick flowers, do you?"
asked Mrs. Leighton, softly.

"Why, _Mother_!" cried Natalie. "Do you know that mammy may be _killed_?
We'll have to go straight back."

"No, we won't," said Mrs. Leighton, flushing at her levity before the
very portals of the church. "She's all right. I looked back, and saw her
crossing the lawn."

"Even so," said Natalie, severely, "I'm surprised at _you_." Then she
laughed.

Church seemed very long that day, but at last they were out in the
sunshine again and Gip was given her full head. No sooner had Zeke, the
hired man, seized the bit than Natalie sprang from the cart and rushed
to the kitchen. She found mammy going placidly about her business.

"Doan' yo' talk to me, chile," she burst out at sight of Natalie. "Doan'
yo' dast talk to me!"

Natalie threw her arms about her.

"You poor mammy," she murmured. "Aren't you hurt?"

"Hurt!" snorted mammy. "Yo' mammy mought 'a' been killed ef she didn'
carry her cushions along wif 'er pu'sson."

CHAPTER XLIII

Six miles away from Aunt Jed's, on the top of a hill overlooking the
Housatonic Valley, stood the Leighton homestead, a fine old-fashioned
house, now unoccupied save for a care-taking farmer and his wife, who
farmed the Leighton acres on shares. T