That evening the boys, on their return to the hill, were very curious to know how Pat had fared with the baby. Captain Corbet had hinted that he had left his child under Pat’s care, and many conjectures had been made as to the success of the new nurse. Pat, however, shunned the public eye for that evening, so that it was not until the following day that they had a chance of asking him about his experience. At first Pat fought them off, and returned evasive answers; but gradually he disclosed all. The curiosity of the boys then turned towards the meeting that may have taken place between the indignant Mrs. Corbet and the innocent captain on his return. But of the nature of that meeting they were destined to remain in ignorance. All was left to conjecture, and such powerful imaginations as theirs supplied them with many vivid fancy sketches of scenes wherein figured the justly irate wife, and the injured, yet forbearing, Corbet. Time passed on, until at length one afternoon a thrill of excitement was thrown over the playground by the appearance of Corbet himself. Like all popular favorites, he was received with an uproarious greeting. He accepted the tribute with a mild and pensive countenance, and by his manner showed that something unusual was going to take place. What that was they soon learned. With a moistened eye, and not without emotion, he informed them that he was shortly about to leave them, and had come down for the especial purpose of bidding them good by. This announcement was received with astonishment and sorrow. Upon further questioning they learned that he was going to take a cargo of potatoes to Boston. “Yes, boys,” said he, mournfully, “the aged Corbet must again become a wanderer with taters, his home the heavin billow, an his destination Bosting. An individool of his years mought have hoped to rest his aged bones under his own roof a nussin of his babby; but Fate an the wife of his boosum stud clean agin it, tickerlarly the latter, bein a high sperrit an given to domineerin. So it hev kem abeout that sence the resurrection of the schewner she have fairly druv me from my natyve hearthstun, to temp the dangerous wave, an cross the briny main. Hence my departoor with taters. All air ready. My boat air on the shore, an my bark air on the sea. Not that I regret the restoration of the schewner. I may be sundered far from my babby, but this I will say, that in the cabing of the Antelope reigns peace! Ef I can’t press my babby in my parential arms, I can hold his image in my pinin boosum. Besides, I can make money for his footoor years, which, sence I’ve ben disappinted in the Frenchman’s money-hole, ain’t to be sneezed at. Ony when any of youns goes an gits married, as some of you may some time dew,--take the word of an exile, and look out for temper!”