ed, however, before I carried
out my plan, to again try to reason with Euphemia.

"If it was our own baby," I said, "or even the child of one of us, by a
former marriage, it would be a different thing; but to give yourself
up so entirely to Pomona's baby, seems, to me, unreasonable. Indeed, I
never heard of any case exactly like it. It is reversing all the usages
of society for the mistress to take care of the servant's baby."

"The usages of society are not worth much, sometimes," said Euphemia,
"and you must remember that Pomona is a very different kind of a
person from an ordinary servant. She is much more like a member of the
family--I can't exactly explain what kind of a member, but I understand
it myself. She has very much improved since she has been married, and
you know, yourself, how quiet and--and, nice she is, and as for the
baby, it's just as good and pretty as any baby, and it may grow up to
be better than any of us. Some of our presidents have sprung from lowly
parents."

"But this one is a girl," I said.

"Well then," replied Euphemia, "she may be a president's wife."

"Another thing," I remarked, "I don't believe Jonas and Pomona like your
keeping their baby so much to yourself."

"Nonsense!" said Euphemia, "a girl in Pomona's position couldn't help
being glad to have a lady take an interest in her baby, and help bring
it up. And as for Jonas, he would be a cruel man if he wasn't pleased
and grateful to have his wife relieved of so much trouble. Pomona!
is that you? You can bring it here, now, if you want to get at your
clear-starching."

I don't believe that Pomona hankered after clear-starching, but she
brought the baby and I went away. I could not see any hope ahead. Of
course, in time, it would grow up, but then it couldn't grow up during
my vacation.

Then it was that I determined to carry out my plan.

I went to the stable and harnessed the horse to the little carriage.
Jonas was not there, and I had fallen out of the habit of calling him.
I drove slowly through the yard and out of the gate. No one called to me
or asked where I was going. How different this was from the old times!
Then, some one would not have failed to know where I was going, and,
in all probability, she would have gone with me. But now I drove away,
quietly and undisturbed.

About three miles from our house was a settlement known as New Dublin.
It was a cluster of poor and doleful houses, inhabited entirely by Irish