"The ways of God are mysterious," said the venerable matron, laying her hand on my knee. "Peter's son married Emily's daughter--the sweet little baby she brought to our house--and their son owns a plantation a few miles from here." HOW TOM JONES LOST HIS PROMOTION. BY MRS. FRANK McCARTHY. Tom Jones began to wheeze and sneeze last spring, and pretty soon a cough set in that alarmed his mamma, and she was just making up her mind to send for the family physician, when Tom was seized one morning with a fit of coughing which ended in a prolonged, unmistakable whoop. No Indian on the war-path ever seemed better satisfied with a whoop than Mrs. Jones did with this one of Tom's. "Why, Tommy's got the whooping-cough!" she exclaimed, joyfully, to her husband. "Does a legacy usually come with it?" said Mr. Jones. "Well, it's a comfort to know it isn't anything settling on his lungs," replied Mrs. Jones. "He's got to have whooping-cough some time, and it's a good time to have it now, when the warm weather is coming. Now we needn't wait for vacation to go to the country." "You are in luck, Tom," said Mr. Jones. "You can take a long legal holiday, and need not play hookey any more." "Catch me taking a holiday till the rest of the boys do, and you'll catch a weasel asleep: Joe Brown ain't going to get ahead of me," said Tom, whose father knew he never "played hookey." "But, my son, you don't want to give away the whooping-cough? It's something nice to keep; you mustn't be too generous with it." "There's nothing stingy about me," said Tom, who, in truth, was a whole-souled little fellow, always sharing what he had with his playmates. "If it's a good time to have it, why can't I go and give it to the whole class?" "There's a prejudice against people being too generous," said Mr. Jones; and patting Tom's head, he went off to business. Tom gathered up his books, but his mamma explained to him that he couldn't go to school with whooping-cough. "How long does this thing last?" said Tom, impatiently. "Oh, quite a while," said Mrs. Jones, cheerfully--"two or three months, perhaps." "Two or three months," echoed Tom, with dismay. "Why, Joe Brown'll be away ahead of me by that time, and I sha'n't be promoted!" "Well, never mind, dear," said his mamma; "it can't be helped, you know. You'll have to have it some time, and it's a good time to have it now."