ogged right along the straight road. Haste makes
waste 's an awful good motto. Pile out, young ones! It's only half a
mile from here to the Falls, 'n' you'll have to get there on Shank's
mare!"

So saying, he dumped the astonished children into the middle of the
road, from whence he had plucked them, turned the docile mare, and with
a "Git, Mariar!" went four miles back to relieve Aunt Hitty's
horse-block from the weight of the widder Foss (which was no joke!).

This turn of affairs was most unexpected, and Gay seemed on the point of
tears; but Timothy gathered her a handful of wild flowers, wiped the
dust from her face, put on the clean blue gingham apron, and established
her in the basket, where she soon fell asleep, wearied by the
excitements of the day.

Timothy's heart began to be a little troubled as he walked on and on
through the leafy woods, trundling the basket behind him. Nothing had
gone wrong; indeed, everything had been much easier than he could have
hoped. Perhaps it was the weariness that had crept into his legs, and
the hollowness that began to appear in his stomach; but, somehow,
although in the morning he had expected to find Gay's new mothers
beckoning from every window, so that he could scarcely choose between
them, he now felt as if the whole race of mothers had suddenly become
extinct.

Soon the village came in sight, nestled in the laps of the green hills
on both sides of the river. Timothy trudged bravely on, scanning all the
dwellings, but finding none of them just the thing. At last he turned
deliberately off the main road, where the houses seemed too near
together and too near the street, for his taste, and trundled his family
down a shady sort of avenue, over which the arching elms met and clasped
hands.

Rags had by this time lowered his tail to half-mast, and kept strictly
to the beaten path, notwithstanding manifold temptations to forsake it.
He passed two cats without a single insulting remark, and his entire
demeanor was eloquent of nostalgia.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Timothy disconsolately; "there's something wrong with
all the places. Either there's no pigeon-house, like in all the
pictures, or no flower garden, or no chickens, or no lady at the window,
or else there's lots of baby-clothes hanging on the wash-lines. I don't
believe I shall ever find"--

At this moment a large, comfortable white house, that had been
heretofore hidden by great trees, came into view. Timothy drew nea