od thing, but he could not find the child.

He searched the faces of the children in detail, but could not decide
which one it was. Finally he gave it up with a sigh and said:

"I thought I would know the little cub again but I don't." Mr. Johnson
said further, that Mr. Young observed that life was a sad, sad thing
--"because the joy of every new marriage a man contracted was so apt to be
blighted by the inopportune funeral of a less recent bride." And Mr.
Johnson said that while he and Mr. Young were pleasantly conversing in
private, one of the Mrs. Youngs came in and demanded a breast-pin,
remarking that she had found out that he had been giving a breast-pin to
No. 6, and she, for one, did not propose to let this partiality go on
without making a satisfactory amount of trouble about it. Mr. Young
reminded her that there was a stranger present. Mrs. Young said that if
the state of things inside the house was not agreeable to the stranger,
he could find room outside. Mr. Young promised the breast-pin, and she
went away. But in a minute or two another Mrs. Young came in and
demanded a breast-pin. Mr. Young began a remonstrance, but Mrs. Young
cut him short. She said No. 6 had got one, and No. 11 was promised one,
and it was "no use for him to try to impose on her--she hoped she knew
her rights." He gave his promise, and she went. And presently three
Mrs. Youngs entered in a body and opened on their husband a tempest of
tears, abuse, and entreaty. They had heard all about No. 6, No. 11, and
No. 14. Three more breast-pins were promised. They were hardly gone
when nine more Mrs. Youngs filed into the presence, and a new tempest
burst forth and raged round about the prophet and his guest. Nine
breast-pins were promised, and the weird sisters filed out again. And in
came eleven more, weeping and wailing and gnashing their teeth. Eleven
promised breast-pins purchased peace once more.

"That is a specimen," said Mr. Young. "You see how it is. You see what
a life I lead. A man can't be wise all the time. In a heedless moment I
gave my darling No. 6--excuse my calling her thus, as her other name has
escaped me for the moment--a breast-pin. It was only worth twenty-five
dollars--that is, apparently that was its whole cost--but its ultimate
cost was inevitably bound to be a good deal more. You yourself have seen
it climb up to six hundred and fifty dollars--and alas, even that is not
the end! For I have wiv