“I AM beginning to feel anxious about Jack,” said Mrs. Crump. “It's almost a week since we heard from him. I'm afraid he's got into some trouble.”
“Probably he's too busy to write,” said the cooper.
“I told you so,” said Rachel, in one of her usual fits of depression. “I told you Jack wasn't fit to be sent on such an errand. If you'd only taken my advice, you wouldn't have had so much worry and trouble about him now. Most likely he's got into the House of Reformation, or somewhere. I knew a young man once who went away from home, and never came back again. Nobody ever knew what became of him till his body was found in the river, half-eaten by fishes.”
“How can you talk so, Rachel?” said Mrs. Crump, indignantly; “and of your own nephew, too!”
“This is a world of trial and disappointment,” said Rachel; “and we might as well expect the worst, because it's sure to come.”
“At that rate there wouldn't be much joy in life,” said the cooper. “No, Rachel, you are wrong. God didn't send us into the world to be melancholy. He wants us to enjoy ourselves. Now I have no idea that Jack has jumped into the river. Then again, if he has, he can swim.”
“I suppose,” said Rachel, “you expect him to come home in a coach and four, bringing Ida with him.”
“Well,” said the cooper, good-humoredly, “I don't know but that is as probable as your anticipations.”
Rachel shook her head dismally.
“Bless me!” said Mrs. Crump, in a tone of excitement; “there's a carriage just stopped at our door, and—yes, it is Jack, and Ida too!”