infantile incident, but on the day after I began to tire of my new charge, and Pat, on his side, seemed to be tired of me, for he turned from me when I went to take him up, while he would hold out his hands to Euphemia, and grin delightedly when she took him.
That morning I drove to the village and spent an hour or two there. On my return I found Euphemia sitting in our room with little Pat on her lap. I was astonished at the change in the young rascal. He was dressed from head to foot in a suit of clothes belonging to Pomona's baby, the glowing fuzz on his head was brushed and made as smooth as possible, while his little muslin sleeves were tied up with blue ribbon.
I stood speechless at the sight.
"Don't he look nice?" said Euphemia, standing him on her knees. "It shows what good clothes will do. I'm glad I helped Pomona make up so many. He's getting ever so fond of me, ze itty Patsy, Watsy! See how strong he is! He can almost stand on his legs! Look how he laughs! He's just as cunning as he can be. And oh! I was going to speak about that box. I wouldn't have him sleep in that old packing-box. There are little wicker cradles at the store—I saw them last week—they don't cost much, and you could bring one up in the carriage. There's the other baby crying, and I don't know where Pomona is. Just you mind him a minute, please!" and out she ran.
I looked out of the window. The horse still stood harnessed to the carriage as I had left him. I saw Pat's old shawl lying in a corner. I seized it, and rolling him in it, new clothes and all, I hurried downstairs, climbed into the carriage, hastily disposed Pat in my lap, and turned the horse. The demeanour
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