Presently the horses lagged a little, and the driver, leaning forward for his whip, discovered its loss.
The long procession halted, wondering what had happened to the first carriage. The whip was found, “’way back,” and, as two carriages had passed over it, it was a handsome whip no more.
“What a shame!” said the driver, as he tried to crack the broken lash.
“Allie tole ’ou. Allie’s patint am keen wown ou’!” fell from the cherry lips.
Now came home and bed for the little child who had begun to be joyous in anticipation at four o’clock in the morning. No wonder that in such a long series of discouragements his “patience was clear wore out.”
His sleep that night was broken by a kind of baby-boy, Cassandra-like murmur, which would have touched to its depths the heart of any tender soul that heard it.
“Laula,” it said, plaintively, “Allie tole ’ou!”
But Laula was fast asleep.
A PRIZE FOR A SQUIRREL.