orry we
were going, but hoped we would come back again some other summer. We
said that it was quite possible that we might do so; but that, next
time, we did not think we would try to have a tavern of our own.

CHAPTER XIX. THE BABY AT RUDDER GRANGE.

For some reason, not altogether understood by me, there seemed to be a
continued series of new developments at our home. I had supposed, when
the events spoken of in the last chapter had settled down to their
proper places in our little history, that our life would flow on in
an even, commonplace way, with few or no incidents worthy of being
recorded. But this did not prove to be the case. After a time, the
uniformity and quiet of our existence was considerably disturbed.

This disturbance was caused by a baby, not a rude, imperious baby, but
a child who was generally of a quiet and orderly turn of mind. But it
disarranged all our plans; all our habits; all the ordinary disposition
of things.

It was in the summer-time, during my vacation, that it began to exert
its full influence upon us. A more unfortunate season could not have
been selected. At first, I may say that it did not exert its full
influence upon me. I was away, during the day, and, in the evening, its
influence was not exerted, to any great extent, upon anybody. As I have
said, its habits were exceedingly orderly. But, during my vacation, the
things came to pass which have made this chapter necessary.

I did not intend taking a trip. As in a former vacation, I proposed
staying at home and enjoying those delights of the country which my
business in town did not allow me to enjoy in the working weeks and
months of the year. I had no intention of camping out, or of doing
anything of that kind, but many were the trips, rides, and excursions I
had planned.

I found, however, that if I enjoyed myself in this wise, I must do it,
for the most part, alone. It was not that Euphemia could not go with
me--there was really nothing to prevent--it was simply that she had
lost, for the time, her interest in everything except that baby.

She wanted me to be happy, to amuse myself, to take exercise, to do
whatever I thought was pleasant, but she, herself, was so much engrossed
with the child, that she was often ignorant of what I intended to do, or
had done. She thought she was listening to what I said to her, but, in
reality, she was occupied, mind and body, with the baby, or listening
for some sound which shoul