"But mother's 'bout sick a worryin' sence ye went off with Hi and didn't tell where ye was goin'. Did ye think of it, Prue, that mother misses Randy, so couldn't spare ye, too?"
"Oh, I never thought," Prue answered, "I wanted to see my Randy, but I didn't 'member that if I went to Boston there wouldn't be any girls 't all in our house."
With his lantern on his arm and his little daughter clasped to his breast, Mr. Weston tramped along the rough road escorted by two neighbors who with their torches made a path of light before him. As they reached the house, two white-faced women saw them, but while Aunt Prudence hastened to open the door Mrs. Weston drew back.
"Alive or,—"
"I want some supper," exclaimed a very energetic little voice and the mother sprang forward to take her lost one in her arms.
"Oh Prue, don't ye leave us again," she cried, her tears dropping upon the soft curls.
"But I was going to get my Randy and bring her home to you," said Prue, "and I forgot that when I was away to Randy's there wouldn't be any girls to take care of you 'n Tabby."
That night, as an especial favor, Prue was allowed to take Tabby to bed with her, and as she lay with her arms about the cat, she thought that, although her journey to Boston was prevented, there yet were comforts at home, and Tabby accustomed to sleeping in the shed, must have thought the millennium had come.