I'm afraid he's got into some
trouble."
"Probably he's too busy to write," said the cooper.
"I told you so," said Rachel, in one of her usual fits of
depression. "I told you Jack wasn't fit to be sent on such an
errand. If you'd only taken my advice, you wouldn't have had so much
worry and trouble about him now. Most likely he's got into the House
of Reformation, or somewhere. I knew a young man once who went away
from home, and never came back again. Nobody ever knew what became
of him till his body was found in the river, half-eaten by fishes."
"How can you talk so, Rachel?" said Mrs. Crump, indignantly; "and of
your own nephew, too!"
"This is a world of trial and disappointment," said Rachel; "and we
might as well expect the worst, because it's sure to come."
"At that rate there wouldn't be much joy in life," said the cooper.
"No, Rachel, you are wrong. God didn't send us into the world to be
melancholy. He wants us to enjoy ourselves. Now I have no idea that
Jack has jumped into the river. Then again, if he has, he can swim."
"I suppose," said Rachel, "you expect him to come home in a coach
and four, bringing Ida with him."
"Well," said the cooper, good-humoredly, "I don't know but that is
as probable as your anticipations."
Rachel shook her head dismally.
"Bless me!" said Mrs. Crump, in a tone of excitement; "there's a
carriage just stopped at our door, and--yes, it is Jack, and Ida
too!"
The strange (sic) fulfilment of the cooper's suggestion struck even
Aunt Rachel.
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