he sighed again, and wished that Mrs. Brown might have remained a
fixture in the household forever. "Still," he added, more to
comfort himself than because he had any decided convictions to
express--"still, a baby in the house will make a difference, and
Ellen and Jane will behave better now that Bessie's added
responsibilities put them more upon their honor."

For a time Thaddeus's prophecy was correct. Ellen and Jane did do
better for nearly two months, and then--but why repeat the old
story? Then they lapsed, that is all, and became more tyrannical
than ever. Bessie was so busy with little Ted that the household
affairs outside of the nursery came under their exclusive control.
Thaddeus stood it--I was going to say nobly, but I think it were
better put ignobly--but he had a good excuse for so doing.

"A baby is an awful care to its mother," he said; "a responsibility
that takes up her whole time and attention. I don't think I'd
better complicate matters by getting into a row with the servants."

And so it went. A year and another year passed. The pretty home
was beginning to look old. The bloom of its youth had most
improperly faded--for surely a home should never fade--but there was
the boy, a growing delight to his father, so why complain? Better
this easy-going life than one of domestic contention.

Then on a sudden the boy fell ill. The doctor came--shook his head
gravely.

"You must take him to the sea-shore," he said. "It is his only
chance."