For an hour or more, the pedestrians trudged slowly along, Uncle Jack endeavoring the while to amuse the child in his arms, who would ever and anon stretch out its little arms and cry, “Mamma.”  With downcast eye and heart, Leah moved steadily forward, heeding nothing, save the occasional cry of her child.  Uncle Jack, as he walked along, had broken a green bough from a swamp-myrtle, and gathered a spray of blue winter berries, which he bound together as a nosegay for the child.  With these he charmed its baby fancy, and foiled every endeavor to reach its mother’s arms.  At length the trail was ended, and the open road reached.

“Now,” said Uncle Jack, “we are here at last.  This is the road that leads to Sheltonville, the only place that lies in your way to the Queen City.  Keep it straight, chile, an’ mebbe you’ll reach thar at last; mebbe not; I don’t know.  Here, let’s rest a minit under this water-oak.  Sit down on the log; I’ll warrant there’s no snakes under it.”

Leah slightly smiled as she obeyed this command, and sat down on the crumbling, moss-grown wood, saying: 

“Uncle Jack, are there any rivers in my way to the Queen City?”

“None, chile, but the Little Black, and you kin cross that at Sheltonville.  It’s a wonder those dev’lish soldiers hain’t destroyed the bridge, ’fore this; but they hadn’t, the last I heered from Sheltonville.”

“Oh, I can get across, I guess,” replied Leah cheerfully.  “Rivers, nor mountains either, can keep me from my husband now.  If he is in the city, I shall find him.”  Here little Sarah began to cry, and show signs of weariness.  In vain Uncle Jack flourished the wild nosegay, whistled, sang, chirruped; the little creature would find lodgment in its mother’s arms, and sleep on her faithful bosom.

The sun was getting toward the half-way morning hour, when the little child awoke, and clinging around her mother’s neck she cunningly averted her face from Uncle Jack, as if to say, “You shall not have me again.  I am tired of your wild nosegay.”

“Well now,” said Uncle Jack, “the little creetur is awake agin, and as spry as a cricket.  Come to Uncle Jack, won’t ye?”

“I must be going,” said Leah.  “It’s getting late.”  And rising with the child in her arms, she drew the small bundle of food and clothing that she carried closer to her, and said, “I am ready.  Good-by.  Keep straight ahead, must I?”

“Yes, chile,” replied Uncle Jack in a tremulous voice, “straight ahead, and the good Lord be with ye.”

Leah was gone.  She followed the sandy road pointed out by Uncle Jack’s trembling finger, followed it till a small morass, thick with swamp-growth, hid her from his view; and then the old man said, as he turned sorrowfully back toward his cabin, “Poor chile, she seems to have a lot o’ trouble in this troublesome world.  And she’s so young and purty, too.  I thank the Lord there’s a world up yonder”—­and he cast his tear-dimmed eyes above—­“where no more trouble will never come; an’ may ole Jack Marner be lucky enough to git thar.”