"I can tell you, Ellen, I will not consent to this another day," said Mr. Harding to his wife, as he met her burning face one day in the kitchen, just as dinner was ready for the table. "Why, you look as if you had baked yourself as well as the mutton," he added, laughing.
"Pray, how will you help it, my dear?" asked Mrs. Harding.
"I will go myself for help. I do believe I can find somebody who can tend the roast and wash the dishes."
"Don't be too positive, Mr. Harding; remember your good wife's experience," interposed Mrs. Pinkerton, with an arch shake of the finger and a roguish twinkle of the eye.
"Well, one thing is certain," replied Mr. Harding, laughing, "I shall not come back till I find one, extraordinaries excepted. So, when you see me driving up, you will see some one else."
Old Dobbin was duly harnessed next morning, and Mr. Harding, full of hope, started off "bright and early," while the whole family, guests and all, ran down to the gate to wish him success and a pleasant ride.
One, two, three days passed, but he did not return, and Mrs. Harding began to cast uneasy glances down the street, and to watch and listen every time she heard carriage-wheels.
"He will be as good as his word, Ellen," said her sister, Mrs. Pinkerton. "When he does come, you will have help; that is a comfort."
"Perhaps," cried little Anna Pinkerton, "he cannot find a girl, and then he will never come back."
Just then, however, a step was heard in the hall, and the next moment the parlor door was darkened by his tall form. There he stood, but alone.