in the five o'clock line for Boston."

I turned my face a little aside, so that Edward might not see all
the anxiety that was pictured there.

"You look very sober, Mr. Mayflower," said my good wife, gazing at
me with eyes a little shaded by concern, as I sat with Arty's head
leaning against my bosom that evening; "as sober as baby looked this
morning, after his fruitless shadow chase."

"And for the same reason," said I, endeavoring to speak calmly and
firmly.

"Why, Mr. Mayflower!" Her face betrayed a rising anxiety. My assumed
calmness and firmness did not wholly disguise the troubled feelings
that lay, oppressively, about my heart.

"For the same reason," I repeated, steadying my voice, and trying to
speak bravely. "I have been chasing a shadow all day; a mere phantom
scheme of profit; and at night-fall I not only lose my shadow, but
find my feet far off from the right path, and bemired. I called Arty
a foolish child this morning. I laughed at his mistake. But, instead
of accepting the lesson it should have conveyed, I went forth and
wearied myself with shadow-hunting all day."

Mrs. Mayflower sighed gently. Her soft eyes drooped away from my
face, and rested for some moments on the floor.

"I am afraid we are all, more or less, in pursuit of shadows," she
said,--"of the unreal things, projected by thought on the canvas of a