direction about his portmanteau, and then passed into the back
parlour, where her husband was employed on his baskets,--with the
baby's cradle in the corner, and its grandmother rocking it
mechanically, as she read a wonderful missionary tract full of tales
of miraculous conversions: into what sort of Christians we will not
pause to inquire.

"And so you are happy, Will?" said Kenelm, seating himself between the
basket-maker and the infant; the dear old mother beside him, reading
the tract which linked her dreams of life eternal with life just
opening in the cradle that she rocked. He not happy! How he pitied
the man who could ask such a question.

"Happy, sir! I should think so, indeed. There is not a night on
which Jessie and I, and mother too, do not pray that some day or other
you may be as happy. By and by the baby will learn to pray 'God bless
papa, and mamma, grandmamma, and Mr. Chillingly.'"

"There is some one else much more deserving of prayers than I, though
needing them less. You will know some day: pass it by now. To return
to the point: you are happy; if I asked why, would you not say,
'Because I have married the girl I love, and have never repented'?"

"Well, sir, that is about it; though, begging your pardon, I think it
could be put more prettily somehow."

"You are right there. But perhaps love and happiness never yet found
any words that could fitly express them. Good-bye, for the present."

Ah! if it were as mere materialists, or as many middle-aged or elderly