It was but a few minutes before the neat buggy held the widow and her son, and the ponies were taking them briskly down the road towards the village.
It they had only known it, at that very moment Ham Morris and his blooming bride were setting out for a drive, at the fashionable watering-place where they had made their first stop in their wedding-tour.
"Ham," said Miranda, "it seems to me as if we were a thousand miles from home."
"We shall be a good deal farther before we get any nearer," said Ham.
"But I wonder what they are doing there, this morning,—mother, and the girls, and dear little Dabney."
"Little Dabney!" exclaimed Ham, with a queer sort of laugh on his face.
"Why, Miranda, do you think Dab is a baby yet?"
"No, not a baby, but"—
"Well, he's a boy, that's a fact; but he'll be as tall as I am in three years."
"Will he? Do you think so? But will he ever get fat?"
"Not till after he gets his full length," said Ham. "We must have him at our house a good deal, after we get home, and feed him up. I've taken a liking to Dab."