One evening in October, the team of Mr. Gulvert broke loose from the post to which they were tied while he was at meeting, and, taking fright, rushed along at full speed on a narrow by-road by the river that ran through the village, till, coming in contact with the root of a tree that protruded from the road, the horses and wagon were precipitated over a fall of some twenty feet into the channel of the river beneath.  As the night was dark, and the road the animals took in their furious course was not known, it was not till next morning that the fate of the team was discovered, though not only Gulvert himself, but his hired help, including his servant girl and wife even, were out all night on the search for them.

If the most unexpected calamity had visited these enlightened Christians—­if two of their children, instead of two of their horses, had met with a sudden death,—­their grief could not be more heartrending or despairing than on this occasion.  The whole family was in an uproar.  There were wringing of hands, lamentable cries, and bewailings the most bitter, of the death of the best team in the town of Greenditch.  The very children, down to the youngest of six years old, joined their tears to those of their parents and the adult members of the family.  Not a wink was slept, not a morsel of victuals cooked, nor even a fire kindled in Mr. Culvert’s house that night, and it was more than a week before the pious Mrs. Gulvert could be consoled or prevailed on to show herself down stairs.  She was either really sick, or affected sickness, so that it was doubted whether or not she could survive the loss of her “darling team.”  O, what a loss was there!  “The team would fetch two hundred dollars between two brothers, and it was only last month the new wagon cost seventy or eighty dollars; and all now gone.”

“What a misfortune that I went out to hear that preacher at all on the Sabbath!” said Gulvert.  “Had I remained at home, or walked down to meeting, I would be three hundred dollars richer to-day than I am now.”

“Pa, where were the two Paddies, Pete and Bill, that they did not mind the team while you were in meeting?” said young Harry.

“Hang the cusses, Harry!  They wanted to hear the preacher, too,” answered the father.

“If I were you, pa,” said little Libby, “I would keep the price of the hosses out of Pete and Bill’s wages, the ugly fellows, that did not mind and keep the team from running away.”

“That would be but sarving ’em right, Lib,” said her mother, heaving a sigh.

“Yes, wife,” said Gulvert, “that I would gladly do; but you know they are in my debt.  I will be glad enough if they wait to work out the money that I have advanced them.”

“You didn’t advance them money, did you, Gulvert?” said his wife.

“Yes, I did that,” said he, “by the advice of that old fool Parson Waistcoat, who expected, as he succeeded in converting Pete and Bill Kurney, that he would also convert the rest of their friends, if they were out here from Popish Ireland.”