"No," she replied. "He spent a week at the Mississippi, waiting for you. And, fearing you might get carried by, or injured in leaving the steamer,--for you know little ceremony is used towards passengers or their goods,--he visited each boat as it arrived, and had the porter at the hotel call him up at every boat through the night, inquiring of the passengers if they had seen a lady of your description with three young children; and hearing, since he returned, that one resembling you had gone to the Landing higher up on the river, he went there yesterday, hoping to meet you, and bring you back with him. He'll probably get here late this evening; and won't we give him a surprise?" It was about nine o'clock when the missionary returned, alone, anxious, and dejected. "You don't look as if you found your lost wife and babies," said his host, sympathizingly. "No, and I don't know what to make of it. I inquired thoroughly. I looked the papers over also, but did not find that there had been any railroad accident of late. I am afraid she has been taken sick on the way. It was barbarous in me to listen a moment to the idea of her coming all the way alone, with three children, from Massachusetts to Minnesota. I ought to have insisted on her remaining at home until I could have gone for her." "Perhaps," suggested Mr. Lincoln, "she thought it wasn't prudent to venture on such a journey, and wrote you so, but the letter has miscarried." "I know her too well to think so," responded the minister. "She has started on her way here. She had decided to do so as a matter of duty; and, having made her mind up on that point, she would come right on if she met with a railroad accident every other train--if she is a delicate little body." "Well, you look tired enough to drop," said Mrs. Lincoln, abruptly, turning her head to conceal a smile. "I think you had better retire early." The clergyman was quite taken aback at this piece of advice; but Mr. Lincoln relieved his astonishment by saying,-- "My wife, hoping that you might be cheered by the arrival of your family, has been fixing up your room a bit, and I suppose she won't rest to-night unless she sees how you like the improvements." And Mrs. Lincoln opening the door into his apartment, the missionary saw before him his three children, sleeping peacefully in their nice beds, and his wife seated in a rocking-chair, exercising a world of self-control, in order to carry out the plot of surprising him. CHAPTER X. "NO WHISKEY AT THIS RAISING!" If the Scottish bard found it a hard experience that 'The best laid schemes of mice and men Gang oft agla' in staid old Scotland, how would he have sung if his lot had been cast amid the vicissitudes of frontier life on an American prairie?