"I will pass your kindness along to some other desolate one some day. It is the only recompense within my power to make you."
"What I did has been a genuine pleasure. This little fellow has far overpaid me."
"It was a great deal you did for me just at that bitter moment."
"I wish I could do more to lighten your sorrow," I said, with tears of sympathy in my eyes as I said my final good-bye, and hastened after Mr. Winthrop, who was waiting, I knew impatiently, on the platform. I saw Samuel assisting Thomas to control the horses, who were always in awe of the snorting engine; and near them stood a lumbering express, into which the men were putting the long box that I knew contained the rigid body of the dead mother. Presently the poor husband with his baby crowing gleefully in his arms, climbed up to the seat beside the driver, and they started out on their lonely journey. Mr. Winthrop was singularly patient with me, although I kept them waiting some time while I stood watching the loaded express pass out of sight. As I leaned back in our own luxurious carriage, I tried to picture the poor fellow's home going, and hoped that a welcome would be given that would help to lighten his burdened heart.
CHAPTER XIV.
HUMBLE CHARITIES.
Mr. Winthrop had telegraphed Reynolds that morning that we were coming home, and when we came in sight of Oaklands, just in the dim twilight, we found the house brilliantly lighted. There was such a genial warmth and comfort when we entered the door that I exclaimed joyously:
"After all, there is no place like home."
"Is Oaklands better than New York, do you say?" Mr. Winthrop questioned.