“I think it must be time for Henry to come home,” and the speaker glanced at a little gold watch on the mantel. “What a noise those children are making. I told them to keep still, but after all, I’m glad that they didn’t mind me; the most pitiful sight on earth to me, is a child with a feeble body and a large head, who never plays. Let them romp--broken chairs are easier mended than broken spines; who would be a slave to an upholstery shop, or a set of porcelain; who would keep awake at night to watch the key which locks up a set of gold or silver? Who would mew children up in the nursery for fear of a parlor carpet? My parlor is not too good for my children to play in, and I hope it never will be. Now I will go down and take out some cake for tea; how glad I am Henry loves cake, because I know so well how to make it; who would have thought I should have had such a good husband, and such a happy home--poor mamma--and she deserves it so much better than I. Sometimes I think I ought never to have left home while she lived, but have staid to comfort her. Oh my children must be very--very happy; childhood comes but once--but once.” So said Mary Hereford, Mr. Wade’s married daughter, as she picked up the toys, and picture-books, and strings, and marbles, with which her romping children had strewed her chamber floor. Mary Hereford was no beauty. She had neither golden brown, nor raven hair; her skin was not transparently white, nor her eyes dazzlingly bright, nor her foot and hand miraculously small. She was simply a plump, healthy, rosy, cheerful little cricket of a woman--singing ever at her own hearth-stone--proud of her husband--proud of her children, knowing no weariness in their service. Many a beautiful woman has wrung her white hands in vain for the love which lent wings to this unhandsome, but still lovely little wife, dignified even the most common-place employment, and made her heart a temple for sweet and holy thoughts to gather. “Yes, there comes Henry now,” said Mary, and before the words were well out of her mouth, her husband held her at arm’s length, and looked into her face. “You have been sewing too steadily, little wife,” said he; “I must take you out for a walk after tea. I shall get a sempstress to help you if these children out-grow their clothes so fast.”