class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[Pg 37]"/>stood the distress which agitated his wife, without the squeeze she was giving his hand, and her continual "Oh dear! Oh, my poor baby!" now said, firmly,—

"We wont waste words about it. We must go to Easton parsonage as quickly as possible."

"I'll take the short cut, then, across the moor. The moon is so bright I can keep out of the ruts."

"But then we lose the chance of seeing them. They may have found out the mistake earlier, and be on the way to meet us. Drive on!"

But driver still demurred, muttering that it was a bad job, and he couldn't be going over the ground four times without good pay.

"How much do you want for yourself?" asked the gentleman. "I hire the carriage by the month."

"A couple of dollars is little enough."

"I'll give you three; now drive on."

The carriage door shut with a snap, and they started off, driver lashing his horses with the whip.

"We must look out that they don't pass us," said the clergyman.

"I'll keep watch," responded Aunt Fanny, decidedly. "I wonder what Josey would say if he were awake?"

"If our driver had been a father," exclaimed Mrs. Codman, "he wouldn't have asked why one wouldn't do as well as t'other."

"Hem!" exclaimed Aunt Fanny, indignantly. "'Twouldn't have hurt the man to have heard your sermon to-night, brother. I don't think he's very kind, any way."

"He was probably at the ale-house, and had taken enough to make him cross."

"Had he heard you describe how God rewards our love to others by peace in our own hearts, he would have been more kind."

"Well, Fanny, be as tender in your thoughts as you can. It is hard for the man to lose three or four hours of his sleep."

"O, you always are ready to find excuses!" she answered, laughing.

"I ought to practise what I preach, oughtn't I?" He looked archly in her face.

"I hope Emma wont wake," said mamma, anxiously. "Little Rosa sleeps as quietly as a kitten. How strange that none of us noticed the change."

"It's no joke," said Fanny, though she could not help laughing.

They were going over a rough part of the road, and Josey, after growing restless, suddenly started up.

"Are we most home?" he asked in a sleepy tone.

"We'll get there by and by," answered his father, cheerfully.

"I'm afraid we shall have to go all the way to Mr. Matthews'," said mamma. "Next time, I'll dress baby myself.'

"Miss Fanny sent me to put on my bonnet," urged nurse. "She said you were in a hurry."

"No one is to blame, nurse," said her kind master. "It is simply unfortunate."

Mile after mile they drove on, only meeting an occasional carriage, until they came in sight of Easton Parsonage. Here the lights were all out, except one in the chamber; and there persons could be seen moving about.

A vigorous knock soon brought Mr. Matthews to the door. "I heard wheels," he said, "and more than half suspected who it was. We made a sad mistake."

Martin came down, her face very red, bringing baby Emma, and Ann gladly gave up her charge.

Mrs. Matthews soon appeared with marks of tears.

"Wasn't it dreadful!" she exclaimed, with a fresh burst of grief. "I wanted to go right back. We were only two miles from the city when we found out we had brought away the wrong baby; but Mr. Matthews said no, we must keep her till morning. He thought it very careless of us, but"—

"There was no carelessness about it," urged Fanny, indignantly. "Mrs. Reed wanted to help; and she put on the wrong cloaks, that was all. There was never a thought with us of not coming back. Brother wouldn't have hesitated if it had been twice as far. We knew you'd want your baby, and we wanted ours."

"I thought you would understand that we should keep your little Miss till morning," explained Mr. Matthews.

"But mothers have such tender hearts," added Mr. Codman, "and we ought to thank God for it. Come, wife, we must be off. We have fourteen miles to go, and it's almost twelve o'clock."

"There's a difference in ministers as in other folks," whispered Martin aside to Ann. "Mr. Matthews scolded well, and wouldn't hear of going back; but your master did as he would be done by."

"Just like his text," returned Ann. "'Be ye kind one to another.'"

CHAPTER IV.

JOSEY'S TEMPER.

It was a little past two when the weary family alighted at their own door. For the last few miles, the moon had been clouded; the horses were tired; and they had to drive with care.

"Tell Cook we'll have a late breakfast," said mamma, taking her babe with a kiss. "Now, Nurse, go and get all the sleep you can."

The following morning, Josey couldn't remember coming home at all. He opened his large hazel eyes very wide, as Aunt Fanny told him what had happened.

"I'm glad we found her; isn't you?" he asked, again and again.

Baby Emma received a great many extra kisses that day, and the next, and whenever mamma thought about the mistake. But one week after another passed on, Mr. Codman preaching once in a while, until Spring came again.

When Emma was a year and a half old, she was full of mischief; and Josey, who was now five, sometimes got out of patience. He was just learning to read, and liked nothing better than to sit on Aunt Fanny's knee and hear her tell stories. Sometimes Emma, finding no one watching, would get to mamma's basket and overturn all the spools, or tangle the thread, and then Aunt Fanny had to start up and attend to her, and stop the stories very short.

Or baby would climb on a chair to her brother's shelf and pull his nice books to the floor. Once, indeed, he came in from a walk, and found mamma busy with a caller, and Emma, who had been left there while Nurse went an errand, doing a great deal of mischief. She had a new book in her hand, and just as he found her she was tearing out three or four leaves, laughing and shouting with delight. Josey ran to take his book away; but it was too late. His Christmas present was spoiled. Poor boy! he cried as if his heart would break, and was very angry with his sister, more so than his mamma had ever seen him. He struck her little fat hand, exclaiming,—

"You are naughty! naughty! and I don't love you any more."

The visitor rose to go, and Mrs. Codman did not detain her. She was so grieved at her little boy's actions, she could scarcely command her voice to say "good-bye." She rung the bell for Ann, and then, taking Josey by the hand, led him away to his own chamber.

He glanced up into his mamma's face and saw it was very white, and he began to be sorry for his bad temper.

"Oh, Josey!" she commenced at last, seating him on her knee, "do you know how you've grieved mamma?" and then the