Mr. Whedell had a deep and unchanging faith in his ill luck; but, this time, he was pleasantly disappointed.  The morning train on the 1st of May brought back his children to him.  They arrived just as those Bedouins of civilization—­the New Yorkers—­were beginning to indulge their nomadic propensities.  The streets were full of wagons and drays laden with jingling stoves, rickety bedsteads, conspicuous crockery, and other damaged Penates, on the way to new domiciles.  Fortunately, the owner of Mr. Whedell’s residence had not yet come to claim possession.  Creditors are early birds; but the hour—­sis and a half A.M.—­was even too early for them; and only one—­Mr. Rickarts, the shoemaker—­had called.  He had been disposed of in the library, by the servant, under the pretence that Mr. Whedell was not yet up.  But Mr. Whedell was up and dressed before six o’clock, and was watching for the expected carriage, through the window blinds of his apartment.  He ran down to the door with juvenile briskness to receive the returning ones.

Mrs. Chiffield looked pale and jaded.  Her hair was carelessly arranged, and her bonnet awry—­unerring indications of fathomless female misery.  To the anxious inquiry by her parent after her health, she only replied, “Horrid!” Mr. Chiffield wore the aspect of a man who is disappointed in his just expectations.  He gave a hearty grip to the proffered hand of his father-in-law, but he quarrelled with the driver over the fare, and abused him in an under tone, by way of relieving himself.

“And how did you like Washington, my child?” said the fond father, in his tenderest voice.

“I hate it!” said Mrs. Chiffield, hurrying into the house, as if she were running away from her husband.

“Hum.  Well, I’m not surprised that she dislikes the capital.  I believe most visitors do.  Clemmy seems to be a little nervous from travelling, eh?” Mr. Whedell addressed these remarks to his son-in-law.

“Nervous?  Perhaps she is just a trifle nervous, sir.  All women are.”

“True—­true!  One of the peculiarities of the sex.  Well, you have had a pleasant time, I trust?”

“Pleasant time?  Oh! yes—­delightful!  Your daughter is a charming girl, sir, and will make a most excellent wife.”  Mr. Chiffield spoke as if he were very much in earnest, but the expression of his face was not of rapture.

“She is a treasure, sir—­a perfect treasure!” replied the doting parent.  “It cost me many pangs to part with her.  I trust that we shall not be separated now.  Why should we be?  There are but three of us—­just enough for a happy family.”  Mr. Whedell was hinting at a home under the future roof of his son-in-law.

“I agree with you perfectly,” said Mr. Chiffield, with unaffected eagerness.  “Let us live together always.  It will suit me exactly.”  He was thinking of free board and lodging at the house of his father-in-law.

The couple shook hands, mutually pleased at the prospect, and beamed on each other.