“He might have known that something of this kind would have happened,” remarked the person who had communicated the intelligence, as soon as Larkin had left.  “No man who does n’t wish his daughters to marry his clerks, ought to let them go to balls and concerts together, and ride out when they please on Sunday afternoons.”

“Did Larkin permit this with Jane and Hatfield?”

“They were often thus together whether he permitted it or not.”

“He could n’t have known it.”

“Perhaps not.  I could have given him a hint on the subject, if I had chosen—­but it was none of my business.”

On the next day all the parties came home—­Sanford compulsorily, in the hands of an officer; Hatfield voluntarily, and in terrible alarm.  The two brides were of course included.  Sanford soon after left the city, and has not since been heard of.  His crime was “breach of trust!” As for Hatfield, he was received on the principle that, in such matters, the least said the soonest mended.  In the course of a few months he was able to restore the two hundred dollars he had abstracted.  After this was done he felt easier in mind.  He did not, however, make the foolish creature he had married happy.  Externally, or to the world, they seem united, but internally they are not conjoined.  Too plainly is this apparent to the father and mother, who have many a heart-ache for their dearly loved child.

THE MOTHER’S PROMISE.

A lady, handsomely dressed, was about leaving her house to make a few calls, when a little boy ran out from the nursery, and clasping one of her gloved hands in both of his, looked up into her face with a glance of winning entreaty, saying, as he did so: 

“Mamma! dear mamma!  Won’t you buy me a picture-book, just like cousin Edie’s?”

“Yes, love,” was the unhesitating reply; and the lady stooped to kiss the sweet lips of her child.

“Eddy must be a good boy, and mind nurse while mamma is away,” she added.

“I’ll be so good,” replied Eddy, with all the earnestness of a childish purpose.  “You may ask nurse when you come home, if I have not been the goodest little boy that ever was.”

Mrs. Herbert kissed her darling boy again, and then went forth to make her morning round of calls.  Eddy returned to the nursery, strong in his purpose, to be a good boy, as he had promised.

“Such a dear little picture-book as mamma is going to bring me home,” he said to nurse, as he leaned his arms against her, and looked up into her face.  “Oh! won’t I be so glad.  It’s to be just like cousin Edie’s.  Mamma said so; and cousin Edie’s book is so beautiful.  I ’ve wanted one ever since I was there.  Is’nt mamma good?”

“Yes, Eddy,” replied the nurse, “your mamma is very good; and you should love her so much, and do everything she tells you to do.”

“I do love her,” said the child.  “Oh, I love her more than all the world; and I’m going to mind every thing she says.”