"Papa, I do 'most always say my prayers in the morning and at night; but I didn't feel like doing it this time. Do you think people ought to pray when they don't feel like it?"

"Yes; I think that is the very time when they most need to pray; they need to ask God to take away the hardness of their hearts; the evil in them that is hiding His love and their own needs; so that they have no gratitude to express for all His great goodness and mercy to them, no petitions to offer up for strength to resist temptation and to walk steadily in His ways; no desire to confess their sins and plead for pardon for Jesus' sake. Ah! that is certainly the time when we have most urgent need to pray.

"Jesus taught that men (and in the Bible men stand for the whole human race) 'ought always to pray and not to faint.' And we are commanded to pray without ceasing."

"Papa, how can we do that?" she asked. "You know we have to be doing other things sometimes."

"It does not mean that we are to be always on our knees," he said; "but that we are to live so near to God, so loving Him, and so feeling our constant dependence upon Him, that our hearts will be very often going up to His throne in silent petition, praise or confession.

"And if we live in such union with Him we will highly prize the privilege of drawing especially near to Him at certain seasons; we will be glad to be alone with Him often, and will not forget or neglect to retire to our closets night and morning for a little season of close communion with our best and dearest Friend.

"You say you love to be alone with me, your earthly father; I trust the time will come when you will love far better to be alone with your heavenly Father. I must often be far away from you, but He is ever near; I may be powerless to help you, though close at your side, but He is almighty to save, to provide for, and to defend; and He never turns a deaf ear to the cry of His children."

"Yes, papa; but oh I wish that you were always near me too," she said, leaning her cheek affectionately against his arm. "I am very, very sorry that ever I have been a trouble to you and spoiled your enjoyment of your visits home."

"I know you are, daughter; but you have been very good of late. I have rejoiced to see that you were really trying to rule your own spirit. So far as I know, you have been entirely and cheerfully obedient to me, and have not indulged in a single fit of passion or sullenness."

"Yes, papa; but I have been nearly in a passion two or three times; but you gave me a look just in time to help me to resist it. But when you are gone I shall not have that help."

"Then, my child, you must remember that your heavenly Father is looking at you; that He bids you fight against the evil of your nature, and if you seek it of Him, will give you strength to overcome. Here is a text for you; I want you to remember it constantly; and to that end repeat it often to yourself, 'Thou, God, seest me.'

"And do not forget that He sees not only the outward conduct but the inmost thoughts and feelings of the heart."

A boy's glad shout and merry whistle mingled pleasantly with the sound of the dashing of the waves, and Max came bounding over the sands toward their sheltered nook.

"Good-morning, papa," he cried. "You too, Lulu. Ahead of me as usual, I see!"

"Yes," the captain said, reaching out a hand to grasp the lad's and gazing with fatherly affection and pride into the handsome young face glowing with health and happiness, "she is the earliest young bird in the family nest. However, she seeks her roost earlier than her brother does his."

"Yes; and I am not so very late, am I, sir?"

"No, my boy, I do not suppose you have taken any more sleep than you need for your health and growth; and I certainly would not have you do with less."

"I know you wouldn't, papa; such a good, kind father as you are," responded Max. "I wouldn't swap fathers with any other boy," he added, with a look of mingled fun and affection.

"Nor would I exchange my son for any other; not even a better one," returned the captain laughingly, tightening his clasp of the sturdy brown hand he held.

"I haven't heard yet the story of yesterday's success in boating and fishing; come sit down here by my side and let me have it."

Max obeyed, nothing loath, for he was becoming quite expert in both, and always found in his father an interested listener to the story of his exploits.

He and the other lads had returned from their camping at the time of the removal of the family party from 'Sconset to Nantucket Town.

On the conclusion of his narrative the captain pronounced it breakfast time, and they returned to the house.

After breakfast, as nearly the whole party were gathered upon the porch, discussing the question what should be the amusements of the day, a near neighbor with whom they had some acquaintance, ran in to ask if they would join a company who were going over to Shimmo to have a clam-bake.

"The name of the place is new to me," remarked Mr. Dinsmore. "Is it a town, Mrs. Atwood?"

"Oh, no," replied the lady, "there is only one dwelling; a farmhouse with its barns and other out-houses comprises the whole place. It is on the shore of the harbor some miles beyond Nantucket Town. It is a pleasant spot, and I think we shall have an enjoyable time; particularly if I can persuade you all to go."

"A regular New England clam-bake!" said Elsie, "I should really like to attend one, and am much obliged for your invitation, Mrs. Atwood; as we all are, I am sure."

No one felt disposed to decline the invitation, and it was soon settled that all would go.

The clam-bake was to occupy only the afternoon; so they would have time to make all necessary arrangements, and for the customary surf and still baths.

Mrs. Atwood had risen to take leave. "Ah," she said, "I was near forgetting something I meant to say: we never dress for these expeditions, but, on the contrary, wear the oldest and shabbiest dresses we have; considering them altogether the most suitable to the occasion, as then we need not be troubled if they should be wet with spray or soiled by contact with seaweed, grass, or anything else."

"A very sensible custom," Mrs. Dinsmore responded, "and one which we shall all probably follow."

Mrs. Atwood had hardly reached the gate when Lulu, turning to her father with a very discontented face, exclaimed, "I don't want to wear a shabby old dress! Must I, papa?"

"You will wear whatever your Grandma Elsie or mamma directs," he answered, giving her a warning look. Then motioning her to come close to his side, he whispered in her ear, "I see that you are inclined to be ill-tempered and rebellious again, as I feared you would, when I learned that you had begun the day without a prayer for help to do and feel right. Go, now, to your room and ask it."

"You needn't fret, Lu; you don't own a dress that any little girl ought to feel ashamed to wear," remarked Betty, as the child turned to obey.

"And we are all going to wear the very worst we have here with us, I presume," added Zoe; "at least such is my intention."

"Provided your husband approves," whispered Edward sportively.

"Anyhow," she answered, drawing herself up in pretended offence; "can't a woman do as she pleases even in such trifles?"

"Ah I but it is the privileges of a child-wife which are under discussion now,"

"Now, sir, after that you shall just have the trouble of telling me what to wear," said Zoe, rising from the couch where they had been sitting side by side; "come along and choose."

Lulu was in the room where she slept, obeying her father's order so far as outward actions went; but there was little more than lip-service in the prayer she offered, for her thoughts were wandering upon the subject of dress, and ways and means for obtaining permission to wear what she wished that afternoon.

By the time she had finished "saying her prayers," she had also reached a conclusion as to her best plan for securing the desired privilege.

Grandma Elsie was so very kind and gentle that there seemed more hope of moving her than any one else; so to her she went, and, delighted to find her comparatively alone, no one being near enough to overhear a low-toned conversation, began at once:

"Grandma Elsie, I want to wear a white dress to the clam-bake; and I think it would be suitable, because the weather is very warm, and white will wash, so that it would not matter if I did get it soiled."

"My dear child, it is your father's place to decide what concerns his children, when he is with them," Elsie said, drawing the little girl to her and smoothing her hair with soft, caressing touch.

"Yes, ma'am; but he says you and Mamma Vi are to decide this. So if you will only say I may wear the white dress, he will let me. Won't you, please?"

"If your father is satisfied with your choice I shall certainly raise no objection; nor will your mamma, I am quite sure."

"Oh, thank you, ma'am!" and Lulu ran off gleefully in search of her father.

She found him on the veranda, busied with the morning paper, and to her satisfaction, he too was alone.

"What is it, daughter?" he asked, glancing from his paper to her animated, eager face.

"About what I am to wear this afternoon, papa. I would like to wear the white dress I had on yesterday evening, and Grandma Elsie does not object, and says she knows Mamma Vi will not, if you say I may."

"Did she say she thought it a suitable dress?" he asked gravely.

Lulu hung her head. "No, sir; she didn't say that she did or she didn't."

"Go and ask her the question."

Lulu went back and asked it.

"No, my child, I do not," Elsie answered. "It is very unlikely that any one else will be in white or anything at all dressy, and you will look overdressed, which is in very bad taste; besides, though the weather seems warm enough for such thin material here on shore, it will be a great deal cooler on the water; and should the waves or spray come dashing over us, you would find your dress clinging to you like a wet rag—neither beauty nor comfort in it."

"I could wear a waterproof over it while we are sailing," said Lulu.

"Even that might not prove a perfect protection," Elsie replied. "I think, my dear, you will do well to content yourself to wear your travelling dress, which is of a light woollen material, neat without being too dressy, and of a color that will not show every little soil. And it is as good and handsome as the dress I shall wear or as Rosie, and probably any one else, will have on."

"But you can choose for yourself, Grandma Elsie, and I wish I could."

"That is one of the privileges of older years," Elsie answered pleasantly. "I was considerably older than you are before I was allowed to select my own attire. But I repeat that I shall not raise the slightest objection to your wearing anything your father is willing to see on you."

Lulu's hopes were almost gone, but she would make one more effort.

She went to her father, and putting her arms round his neck, begged in her most coaxing tones for the gratification of her wish.

"What did your Grandma Elsie say?" he asked.

Lulu faithfully, though with no little reluctance, repeated every word Elsie had said to her on the subject.

"I entirely agree with her," said the captain; "so entirely that even had she found no objection to urge against it, I should have forbidden you to wear the dress."

Lulu heard him with a clouded brow; in fact, the expression of her face was decidedly sullen. Her father observed it with sorrow and concern.

"Sit down here till I am ready to talk to you," he said, indicating a chair close at his side.

Lulu obeyed, sitting quietly there while he finished his paper. Throwing it aside at length, he took her hand and drew her in between his knees, putting an arm about her waist.

"My little daughter," he said, in his usual kind tone, "I am afraid you care too much for dress and finery. What I desire for you is that you may 'be clothed with humility,' and have 'the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is, in the sight of God, of great price.'"

"I never can have that, papa, for it isn't a bit like me," she said, with a sort of despairing impatience and disgust at herself.

"No, that is too true; it is not like you as you are by nature—the evil nature inherited from me; but God is able to change that, to give you a clean heart and renew within you a right spirit. Jesus is a Saviour from sin (He saves none in their sins), and He is able to save to the uttermost, able to take away the very last remains of the old corrupt nature with which we were born.

"Oh, my child, seek His help to fight against it and to overcome! It grieves me more than I can express to see you again showing an unlovely, wilful temper."

"Oh, papa, don't be grieved," she said, throwing her arms round his neck and pressing her lips to his cheek. "I will be good and wear whatever I'm told; look pleasant about it too, for indeed I do love you too well to want to grieve you and spoil your pleasure."

"Ah, that is my own dear little girl," he answered, returning her caresses.

The sullen expression had vanished from her face and it wore its brightest look, yet it clouded again the next moment, but with sorrow, not anger, as she sighed, "Oh! if you were always with us, papa, I think I might grow good at last; but I need your help so much, and you are gone more than half the time."

"Your heavenly Father is never gone, daughter, and will never turn a deaf ear to a cry for strength to resist temptation to sin. He says, 'In me is thine help.'

"And we are told, 'God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.'"

In the mean time Mrs. Dinsmore, who from choice took most of the housekeeping cares, was ordering an early dinner and various baskets of provisions for the picnic.

As the family sat down to the table, these last were being conveyed on board a yacht lying at the little pier near the bathing-place below the cliffs; and almost immediately upon finishing their meal, all, old and young, trooped down the stairways, across the sandy beach, and were themselves soon aboard the vessel.

Others of the company were already seated in it, and the rest following a few minutes later, and the last basket of provisions being safely stowed away in some safe corner of the craft, they set sail, dragging at their stern a dory in which was a large quantity of clams in the shell.

It was a bright day, and a favorable breeze sent the yacht skimming over the water at an exhilarating rate of speed. All hearts seemed light, every face was bright, not excepting Lulu's, though she was attired in the plain colored dress recommended by Grandma Elsie.

There was no greater display of finery than a knot of bright ribbon, on the part of even the gayest young girl present. Betty wore a black bunting—one of her school dresses—with a cardinal ribbon at the throat; Zoe the brown woollen that had for her such mingled associations of pain and pleasure, and looked wonderfully sweet and pretty in it, Edward thought.

They sat side by side, and Betty, watching them furtively, said to herself, "They are for all the world just like a pair of lovers yet, though they have been married over a year."

Then turning her attention first to Violet and Captain Raymond, then upon her Aunt and Uncle Dinsmore, she came to the same conclusion in regard to them also.

"And it was just so with cousin Elsie and her husband," she mused. "I can remember how devoted they were to each other. But she seems very happy now, and she well may be, with father, sons and daughters all so devoted to her. And she's so rich too; never has to consider how to make one dollar do the work of two; a problem I am so often called upon to solve. In fact, it is to her and uncle, Bob and I owe our education, and pretty much everything we have.

"I don't envy her her money, but I do the love that has surrounded her all her life. She never knew her own mother, to be sure, but her father petted and fondled her as a child, and was father and mother both to her, I've often heard her say; while mine died before I was born, and mother lost her reason when I was a little thing."

But Betty was not much given to melancholy musing, or indeed to musing of any kind; a passing sail presently attracted her attention and turned her thoughts into a new channel.

And soon, the wind and tide being favorable, the yacht drew near her destination.

There was no wharf, but the passengers were taken to the shore, a few at a time, in the dory. It also landed provision baskets and the clams.

Those ladies and gentlemen to whom clam-bakes were a new experience watched with interest the process of cooking the bivalves.

A pit of suitable size for the quantity to be prepared was made in the sand, the bottom covered with stones; it was then heated by a fire kindled in it, the brands were removed, seaweed spread over the stones, the clams poured in, abundance of seaweed piled over and about them, a piece of an old sail put over that, and they were left to bake or steam, while another fire was kindled near by, and a large tin bucket, filled with water, set on it to boil for making coffee.

While some busied themselves with these culinary operations, others repaired to the dwelling, which stood some little distance back from the beach, the ground sloping gently away from it to the water's edge.

The lady of the house met them at the door, and hospitably invited them to come in and rest themselves in her parlor, or sit on the porch; and understanding their errand to the locality, not only gave ready permission for their table to be spread in the shade of her house, but offered to lend anything they might require in the way of utensils.

Accepting her offer, they set to work, the men making a rough sort of impromptu table with some boards, and the ladies spreading upon it the contents of the provision baskets.

Mrs. Dinsmore, Elsie and the younger ladies of their party, offered to assist in these labors, but were told that they were considered guests, and must be content to look on or wander about and amuse themselves.

There was not much to be seen but grassy slopes destitute of tree or shrub, and the harbor and open sea beyond.

They seated themselves upon the porch of the dwelling-house, while Captain Raymond and the younger members of their family party wandered here and there about the place.

There seemed to be some sport going on among the cooks—those engaged in preparing the coffee.

Lulu hurried toward them to see what it was about, then came running back to her father, who stood a little farther up the slope, with Grace clinging to his hand.

"Oh!" she said with a face of disgust, "I don't mean to drink any of that coffee; why, would you believe it, they stirred it with a poker?"

"Did they?" laughed the captain; "they might have done worse. I presume that was used for lack of a long enough spoon. We must not be too particular on such occasions as this."

"But you won't drink any of it, will you, papa?"

"I think it altogether likely I shall."

"Why, papa! coffee that was stirred with a dirty poker?"

"We will suppose the poker was not very dirty," he said, with a good-humored smile; "probably there was nothing worse on it than a little ashes, which, diffused through so large a quantity of liquid, could harm no one."

"Must I drink it if they offer me a cup?"

"No; there need be no compulsion about it; indeed, I think it better for a child of your age not to take coffee at all."

"But you never said I shouldn't, papa."

"No; because you had formed the habit in my absence, and, as I am not sure that it is a positive injury to you, I have felt loath to deprive you of the pleasure."

"You are so kind, papa," she said, slipping her hand into his and looking up affectionately into his face. "But I will give up coffee if you want me to. I like it, but I can do without it."

"I think milk is far more wholesome for you," he said, with a smile of pleased approval. "I should like you to make that your ordinary beverage at meals, but I do not forbid an occasional cup of coffee."

"Thank you, papa," she returned. "Grandma Elsie once told me that when she was a little girl her father wouldn't allow her to drink coffee at all, or to eat any kind of hot cakes or rich sweet cake; and oh I don't know how many things that she liked he wouldn't let her have. I don't think he was half as nice a father as ours; do you, Gracie?"

"'Course I don't, Lu; I just think we've got the very best in the whole world," responded Grace, laying her cheek affectionately against the hand that held hers in its strong, loving clasp.

"That is only because he is your own, my darlings," the captain said, smiling down tenderly upon them.

A lady had drawn near, and now said, "Supper is ready, Captain Raymond; will you bring your little girls and come to the table?"

"Thank you; we will do so with pleasure," he said, following her as she led the way.

The table, covered with a snow-white cloth and heaped with tempting viands, presented a very attractive appearance.

The clams were brought on after the most of the company were seated, with their coffee and bread and butter before them. They were served hot from the fire and the shell, in neat paper trays, and eaten with melted butter. Eaten thus they make a dish fit for a king.

By the time that all appetites were satisfied, the sun was near his setting, and it was thought best to return without delay.

On repairing to the beach, they found the tide so low that even the dory could not come close to dry land; so the ladies and children were carried through the water to the yacht. This gave occasion for some merriment.

"You must carry me, Ned, if I've got to be carried," said Zoe; "I'm not going to let anybody else do it."

"No; nor am I," he returned, gayly, picking her up and striding forward. "I claim it as my especial privilege."

Mr. Dinsmore followed with his wife, then Captain Raymond with his.

"Get in, Mr. Dinsmore," said the captain, as they deposited their burdens; "there is no occasion for further exertion on your part; I'll bring mother."

"No, sir," said Edward, hurrying shoreward again, "that's my task; you have your children to take care of."

"Your mother is my child, Ned, and I think I shall take care of her," Mr. Dinsmore said, hastening back to the little crowd still at the water's edge.

"We will have to let her decide which of us shall have the honor," said the captain.

"That I won't," Mr. Dinsmore said, laughingly, stepping to his daughter's side and taking her in his arms.

"Now, you two may take care of the younger ones," he added, with a triumphant glance at his two rivals.

"Ah, Ned, we are completely outwitted," laughed the captain.

"Yes; with grandpa about one can't get half a chance to wait upon mother. Betty, shall I have the honor and pleasure of conveying you aboard of yonder vessel?"

"Yes, thank you; I see Harold and Herbert are taking Rosie and Walter," she said. "But I warn you that I am a good deal heavier than Zoe."

"Nevertheless, I think my strength will prove equal to the exertion," he returned, as he lifted her from the ground.

Lulu and Grace stood together, hand in hand, Max on Gracie's other side.

"Take Gracie first, please, papa," said Lulu; "she is frightened, I believe."

"Frightened?" he said, stooping to take her in his arms; "there is nothing to be afraid of, darling. Do you think papa would leave you behind or drop you into the water?"

"No; I know you wouldn't," she said, with a little nervous laugh, and clinging tightly about his neck.

"Mayn't I wade out, papa?" Max called after him.

"Yes; but stay with your sister till I come for her."

"Where's my baby, Levis?" asked Violet, laughingly, as he set Grace down by her side.

"The baby! Sure enough, where is it?" he exclaimed, with an anxious glance toward the shore.

"Ah, there stands the nurse with it in her arms. You shall have it in yours in a moment."

"Here's the baby, papa; please take her first; I don't mind waiting," said Lulu, as he stepped ashore again.

He gave her a pleased, approving look. "That is right; it will be but a minute or two," he said, as he took the babe and turned away with it.

In a few minutes more, all the passengers were aboard, and they set sail; but they had not gone far when it became evident that something was amiss; they were making no progress.

"What is the matter?" asked several voices, and Violet looked inquiringly at her husband.

"There is no cause for apprehension," he said; "we are aground, and may possibly have to wait here for the turn of the tide; that's all."

"It's the lowest tide I ever saw," remarked the captain of the yacht; "we'll have to lighten her; if some of the heaviest of you will get into the dory, it will help."

Quite a number immediately volunteered to do so, among them Edward and Zoe, Bob and Betty, Harold and Herbert. The dory was speedily filled, and then, with a little more exertion the yacht was set afloat.

They moved out into deep water, and a gentle breeze wafted them pleasantly toward their desired haven.

"Look at the sun, papa," Elsie said, gazing westward. "It has a very peculiar appearance."

"Yes," he said, "it looks a good deal like a balloon; it's redness obscured by that leaden-colored cloud. It is very near its setting; we shall not get in till after dark."

"But that will not matter?"

"Oh, no; our captain is so thoroughly acquainted with his vessel, the harbor and the wharf, that I have no doubt he would land us safely even were it much darker than it will be."

Zoe and Edward, in the dory, were talking with a Nantucket lady, a Mrs. Fry.

"How do you like our island, and particularly our town?" she asked.

"Oh, ever so much!" said Zoe. "We have visited a good many watering-places and sea-side resorts, but never one where there was so much to see and to do; so many delightful ways of passing the time. I think I shall vote for Nantucket again next year, when we are considering where to pass the hot months."

"And I," said Edward, "echo my wife's sentiments on the subject under discussion."

"Your wife" the lady exclaimed, with a look of surprise.

"I took her to be your sister; you are both so very young in appearance."

"We are not very old," laughed Edward; "Zoe is but sixteen, but we have been married a year."

"You have begun early; it is thought by some that early marriages are apt to be the happiest, and I should think them likely to be, provided the two are willing to conform their tastes and habits each to those of the other. I trust you two have a long life of happiness before you."

"Thank you," they both said, Edward adding, "I think we are disposed to accommodate ourselves to each other, and whether our lives be long or short, our trials many or few, I trust we shall always find great happiness in mutual sympathy, love and confidence."

The lady asked if they had seen all the places of interest on the island, and in reply they named those they had seen.

"Have you been to Mrs. Mack's?" she asked.

"No, madam, we have not so much as heard of her existence," returned Edward, sportively. "May I ask who and what she is?"

"Yes; she is the widow of a sea-captain, who has a collection of curiosities which she keeps on exhibition, devoting the proceeds, so she says, to benevolent purposes. She is an odd body; herself the greatest curiosity she has to show, I think. You should visit her museum by all means."

"We shall be happy to do so if you will kindly put us in the way of it," said Edward. "How shall we proceed in order to gain admittance?"

"If we can get up a party it will be easy enough; I shall then send her word, and she will appoint the hour when she will receive us; she likes to show her independence, and will not exhibit unless to a goodly number.

"I know of several visitors on the island who want to go, and if your party will join with them there will be no difficulty."

"I think I can promise that we will," said Edward. "I will let you know positively to-morrow morning."

"That will do nicely. Hark, they are singing aboard the yacht."

They listened in silence till the song was finished.

"I recognized most of the voices," Mrs. Fry remarked, "but two lovely sopranos were quite new to me. Do you know the owners?" turning smilingly to Edward.

"My mother and sister," he answered, with proud satisfaction.

"Naturally fine, and very highly cultivated," she said. "You must be proud of them."

"I am," Edward admitted, with a happy laugh.

The sun was down and twilight had fairly begun. Grace, seated on her father's knee, was gazing out over the harbor.

"See, papa, how many little lights close down to the water!" she said.

"Yes; they are lamps on the small boats that are sailing or rowing about; they show them for safety from running into each other."

"And they look so pretty."

"Yes, so they do; and it is a sight one may have every evening from the wharf. Shall I take you down there some evening and let you sit and watch them as they come and go?"

"Oh, yes, do, papa; I think it would be so nice! And you would take Max and Lulu too, wouldn't you?"

"If they should happen to want to go; there are benches on the wharf where we can sit and have a good view. I think we will try it to-morrow evening if nothing happens to prevent."

"Oh, I'm so glad! You are such a good, kind papa," she said, delightedly, giving him a hug.

"The very best you have ever had, I suppose," he responded, with a pleased laugh.

"Yes, indeed," she answered, naively, quite missing the point of his jest.

On reaching home Edward and Zoe reported their conversation with the lady in the dory, and asked, "Shall we not go?"

"I think so, by all means, since it is for benevolent objects," said Elsie.

"Or anyhow, since we feel in duty bound to see all that is to be seen on this island," said Captain Raymond.

No dissenting voice was raised, and when the next morning word came that Mrs. Mack would exhibit that afternoon if a party were made up to attend, they all agreed to go.

The distance was too great for ladies and children to walk, so carriages were ordered. Captain Raymond and his family filled one.

"This is the street that oldest house is on," remarked Lulu, as they turned a corner; "I mean that one we went to see; that has the big horse-shoe on its chimney."

"What do they have that for, papa?" asked Grace.

"In old times when many people were ignorant and superstitious, it was thought to be a protection from witches."

"Witches, papa? what are they?"

"I don't think there are any, really," he said, with a kindly smile into the eagerly inquiring little face; "but in old times it was a very common belief that there were people—generally some withered-up old women—who had dealings with Satan, and were given power by him to torment, or bring losses and various calamities upon any one whom they disliked.

"When you are a little older you shall hear more about it, and how that foolish belief led to great crimes and cruelties inflicted upon many innocent, harmless people. But now, while my Gracie is so young and timid, I do not want her to know too much about such horrors."

"Yes, papa," she responded; "I won't try to know till you think I'm quite old enough."

Several vehicles drew up at the same moment in front of Mrs. Mack's door, and greetings and some introductions were exchanged on the sidewalk and door-steps. Edward introduced his mother and Mrs. Fry to each other, and the latter presented to them a Mrs. Glenn, who, she said, was a native of Nantucket, but had only recently returned after an absence of many years.

"Mrs. Mack knew me as a young girl," Mrs. Glenn remarked, "and I am quite curious to see whether she will recognize me."

At that instant the door was opened in answer to their ring, and they were invited to enter and walk into the parlor.

They found it comfortably furnished and neat as wax. Seating themselves they waited patiently for some moments the coming of the lady of the house.

At length she made her appearance; a little old lady, neatly attired, and with a pleasant countenance.

Mrs. Fry saluted her with a good-afternoon, adding, "I have brought some friends with me to look at your curiosities. This lady," indicating Mrs. Glenn, "you ought to know, as you were acquainted with her in her girlhood."

"Do you know me, Mrs. Mack?" asked Mrs. Glenn, offering her hand.

"Yes, you look as natural as the pigs," was the rather startling reply; accompanied, however, by a smile and cordial shake of the offered hand.

"Now, we'll take the money first to make sure of it," was the next remark, addressed to the company in general.

"What is your admission fee?" asked Mr. Dinsmore, producing his pocketbook.

"Fifteen cents apiece."

"By no means exorbitant if your collection is worth seeing," he returned, good-humoredly. "Never mind your purses, Elsie, Raymond, Ned, I'll act as paymaster for the party."

The all-important business of collecting the entrance fees having been duly attended to, Mrs. Mack led the way to an upper room where minerals, shells, sharks' teeth, and various other curiosities and relics were spread out upon tables and shelves, ranged along the sides and in the centre of the apartment.

"Now," she said, "the first thing is to register your names. You must all register. You begin," handing the book to Mr. Dinsmore, "you seem to be the oldest."

"I presume I am," he said, dryly, taking the book and doing as he was bidden. "Now, you, Raymond," passing it on to the captain, "we'll take it for granted that you are next in age and importance."

"That's right, captain," laughed Betty, as he silently took the book and wrote his name, "it wouldn't be at all polite to seem to think yourself younger than any lady present."

"Of course not, Miss Betty; will you take your turn next?"

"Of course not, sir; do you mean to insinuate that I am older than Aunt Rose?" she asked, passing the book on to Mrs. Dinsmore.

"Don't be too particular about going according to ages," said Mrs. Mack, "it takes up too much time."

"You may write my name for me, Ned," said Zoe, when he took the book.

"Yes, write your sister's name for her; it'll do just as well," said Mrs. Mack.

"But I'm not his sister," said Zoe.

"What, then? is he your lover?"

"No," Edward said, laughing, "we're husband and wife."

"You've begun young," she remarked, taking the book and passing it on; "don't look as if you'd cut your wisdom teeth yet, either of you. When the ladies have all registered, some of you grown folks had better do it for the children."

Having seen all their names duly inscribed in her register, "Seat yourselves," she said, waving her hand toward some benches and chairs.

Then, with the help of a half-grown girl, she set out a small circular table, placed a box upon it, pushed up chairs and a bench or two, and said, "Now, as many of you as can, come and sit round this table; the others shall have their turn afterward."

When all the places were filled, she opened the box and took from it a number of beautifully carved articles—napkin-rings, spoons, etc.

"Now, all take your turns in looking at this lovely carved work, while I tell you its story," she said, "the story of how it came into my possession."

"You see, my husband was a sea-captain, and upon one occasion, when he was about setting sail for a long voyage, a young man, or lad—he was hardly old enough to be called a man—came and asked to be taken as one of the crew. He gave a name, but it wasn't his true name, inherited from his father, as my husband afterward discovered. But not suspecting anything wrong, he engaged the lad, and took him with him on the voyage.

"And the lad behaved well aboard the ship, and he used to carve wonderfully well—as you may see by looking at these articles—just with a jack-knife, and finally—keeping at it in his leisure moments—he made all these articles, carving them out of sharks' teeth.

"You can see he must have had genius; hadn't he? and yet he'd run away from home to go to sea, as my husband afterward had good reason to believe."

She made a long story of it, spinning out her yarn until the first set had examined the carved work to their satisfaction.

Then, "Reverse yourselves," she said, indicating by a wave of her hand, that they were to give place at the table to the rest of the company.

When all had had an opportunity to examine the specimens of the lad's skill, the young girl was ordered to restore them to the box, but first to count them.

That last clause brought an amused smile to nearly every face in the audience, but Lulu frowned, and muttered, "Just as if she thought we would steal them!"

Next, Mrs. Mack began the circuit of the room, carrying a long slender stick with which she pointed out those which she considered the most interesting of her specimens or articles of virtu.

One of these last was a very large, very old-fashioned back-comb, having a story with a moral attached, the latter recited in doggerel rhyme.

She had other stories, in connection with other articles, to tell in the same way. In fact, so many and so long were they, that the listeners grew weary and inattentive ere the exhibition was brought to a close.

The afternoon was waning when they left the house. As Captain Raymond and his family drove into the heart of the town on their way home, their attention was attracted by the loud ringing of a hand-bell, followed now and again by noisy vociferation, in a discordant, man's voice.

"So the evening boat is in," remarked the captain.

"How do you know, papa?" asked Grace.

"By hearing the town-crier calling his papers; which could not have come in any other way."

"What does he say, papa?" queried Lulu. "I have listened as intently as possible many a time, but I never can make out more than a word or two, sometimes not that."

"No more can I," he answered, with a smile; "it sounds to me like 'The first news is um mum, and the second news is mum um mum, and the third news is um um mum."

The children all laughed.

"Yonder he is, coming this way," said Max, leaning from the carriage window.

"Beckon to him," said the captain; "I want a paper."

Max obeyed; the carriage stopped, the crier drew near and handed up the paper asked for.

"How much?" inquired the captain.

"Five cents, sir."

"Why, how is that? You asked me but three for yesterday's edition of this same paper."

"More news in this one."

"Ah, you charge according to the amount of news, do you?" returned the captain, laughing, and handing him a nickel.

"Yes, sir; I guess that's about the fair way," said the crier, hastily regaining the sidewalk to renew the clang, clang of his bell and the "um mum mum" of his announcement.



CHAPTER XII.

"Wave high your torches on each crag and cliff. Let many lights blaze on our battlements; Shout to them in the pauses of the storm, And tell them there is hope."

—Maturings "Bertram."

The evening was cool, and our whole party were gathered in the parlor of the cottage occupied by the Dinsmores and Travillas—games, fancy-work, reading, and conversation making the time fly.

Edward and Zoe had drawn a little apart from the others, and were conversing together in an undertone.

"Suppose we go out and promenade the veranda for a little," he said, presently. "I will get you a wrap and that knit affair for your head that I think so pretty and becoming."

"Crocheted," she corrected; "yes, I'm quite in the mood for a promenade with my husband; and I'm sure the air outside must be delightful. But you won't have to go farther than that stand in the corner for my things."

He brought them, wrapped the shawl carefully about her, and they went out.

Betty, looking after them, remarked aside to her Cousin Elsie, "How lover-like they are still!"

"Yes," Elsie said, with a glad smile: "they are very fond of each other, and it rejoices my heart to see it."

"And one might say exactly the same of the captain and Violet," pursued Betty, in a lower tone, and glancing toward that couple, as they sat side by side on the opposite sofa—Violet with her babe in her arms, the captain clucking and whistling to it, while it cooed and laughed in his face—Violet's ever-beautiful face more beautiful than its wont, with its expression of exceeding love and happiness as her glance rested now upon her husband and now upon her child.

"Yes," Elsie said again, watching them, with a joyous smile still wreathing her lips and shining in her eyes; "and it is just so with my dear Elsie and Lester. I am truly blest in seeing my children so well mated and so truly happy."

"Zoe, little wife," Edward was saying, out on the veranda, "can you spare me for a day or two?"

"Spare you, Ned? How do you mean?"

"I should like to join the boys—Bob, Harold, and Herbert—in a little trip on a sailing vessel which leaves here early to-morrow morning and will return on the evening of the next day or the next but one. I should ask my little wife to go with us, but, unfortunately, the vessel has no accommodations for ladies. What do you say, love? I shall not go without your consent."

"Thank you, you dear boy, for saying that," she responded, affectionately, squeezing the arm on which she leaned; "go if you want to; I know I can't help missing the kindest and dearest husband in the world, but I shall try to be happy in looking forward to the joy of reunion on your return."

"That's a dear," he said, bending down to kiss the ruby lips. "It is a great delight to meet after a short separation, and we should miss that entirely if we never parted at all."

"But oh, Ned, if anything should happen to you!" she said, in a quivering voice.

"Hush, hush, love," he answered, soothingly; "don't borrow trouble; remember we are under the same protection on the sea as on the land, and perhaps as safe on one as on the other."

"Yes; but when I am with you I share your danger, if there is any, and that is what I wish; for oh, Ned, I couldn't live without you!"

"I hope you may never have to try it, my darling," he said, in tender tones, "or I be called to endure the trial of having to live without you; yet we can hardly hope to go together.

"But let us not vex ourselves with useless fears. We have the promise, 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.' And we know that nothing can befall us without the will of our Heavenly Father, whose love and compassion are infinite. 'We know that all things work together for good to them that love God.'"

"But if one is not at all sure of belonging to Him?" she said, in a voice so low that he barely caught the words.

"Then the way is open to come to Him. He says, 'Come unto me.' 'Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.' The invitation is to you, love, as truly as if addressed to you alone; as truly as if you could hear His voice speaking the sweet words and see His kind eyes looking directly at you.

"It is my ardent wish, my most earnest, constant prayer, that my beloved wife may speedily learn to know, love, and trust in Him who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life!"

"You are so good, Ned! I wish I were worthy of such a husband," she murmured, half sighing as she spoke.

"Quite a mistake, Zoe," he replied, with unaffected humility; "to hear you talk so makes me feel like a hypocrite. I haves no righteousness of my own to plead, but, thanks be unto God, I may rejoice in the imputed righteousness of Christ! And that may be yours, too, love, for the asking.

"'Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.'

"They are the Master's own words; and He adds: 'For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.'"

Meanwhile the contemplated trip of the young men was under discussion in the parlor. "Dear me!" said Betty, who had just heard of it, "how much fun men and boys do have! Don't you wish you were one of them, Lulu?"

"No, I don't," returned Lulu, promptly. "I'd like to be allowed to do some of the things they do that we mustn't, but I don't want to be a boy."

"That is right," said her father; "there are few things so unpleasant to me as a masculine woman, who wishes herself a man and tries to ape the stronger, coarser sex in dress and manners. I hope my girls will always be content, and more than content, to be what God has made them."

"If you meant to hit me that time, captain," remarked Betty, in a lively tone, "let me tell you it was a miserable failure, for I don't wish I was a man, and never did. Coarse creatures, as you say—present company always excepted—who would want to be one of them."

"I'd never have anything to do with one of them if I were in your place, Bet," laughed her brother.

"Perhaps I shouldn't, only that they seem a sort of necessary evil," she retorted. "But why don't you invite some of us ladies to go along?"

"Because you are not necessary evils," returned her brother, with a twinkle of fun in his eye.

"You should, one and all, have an invitation if we could make you comfortable," said Harold, gallantly: "but the vessel has absolutely no accommodations for ladies."

"Ah, then, you are excusable," returned Betty.

The young men left the next morning, after an early breakfast. Zoe and Betty drove down to the wharf with them to see them off, and watched the departing vessel till she disappeared from sight.

Zoe went home in tears, Betty doing her best to console her.

"Come, now, be a brave little woman; it's for only two or three days at the farthest. Why, I'd never get married if I thought I shouldn't be able to live so long without the fortunate man I bestowed my hand upon."

"Oh, you don't know anything about it, Betty!" sobbed Zoe. "Ned's all I have in the world, and it's so lonesome without him! And then, how do I know that he'll ever get back? A storm may come up and the vessel be wrecked."

"That's just possible," said Betty, "and it's great folly to make ourselves miserable over bare possibilities—things which may never happen."

"Oh, you are a great deal too wise for me!" said Zoe, in disgust.

"Oh," cried Betty, "if it's a pleasure and comfort to you to be miserable—to make yourself so by anticipating the worst—do so by all means. I have heard of people who are never happy but when they are miserable."

"But I am not one of that sort," said Zoe, in an aggrieved tone. "I am as happy as a lark when Ned is with me. Yes, and I'll show you that I can be cheerful even without him."

She accordingly wiped her eyes, put on a smile, and began talking in a sprightly way about the beauty of the sea as they looked upon it, with its waves dancing and sparkling in the brilliant light of the morning sun.

"What shall we do to-day?" queried Betty.

"Take a drive," said Zoe.

"Yes; I wish there was some new route or new place to go to."

"There's a pretty drive to the South Shore, that maybe you have not tried yet," suggested the hackman.

"South Shore? That's another name for Surfside, isn't it?" asked Betty.

"It's another part of the same side of the island I refer to," he answered. "It's a nice drive through the avenue of pines—a road the lovers are fond of—and if the south wind blows, as it does this morning, you have a fine surf to look at when you get there."

"If a drive is talked of to-day, let us propose this one, Zoe," said Betty.

"Yes; I dare say it is as pleasant as any we could take," assented Zoe. "I wish Edward was here to go with us."

Elsie, with her usual thoughtfulness for others, had been considering what could be done to prevent Zoe from feeling lonely in Edward's absence. She saw the hack draw up at the door, and meeting the young girls on the threshold with a bright face and pleasant smile: "You have seen the boys off?" she said, half inquiringly. "The weather is so favorable, that I think they can hardly fail to enjoy themselves greatly."

"Yes, mamma, I hope they will; but ah, a storm may come and wreck them before they can get back," sighed Zoe, furtively wiping away a tear.

"Possibly; but we won't be so foolish as to make ourselves unhappy by anticipating evils that may never come," was the cheery rejoinder. "The Edna has a skilful captain, a good crew, and is doubtless entirely seaworthy—at least so Edward assured me—and for the rest we must trust in Providence.

"Come in, now, and let me give you each a cup of coffee. Your breakfast with the boys was so early and so slight, that you may find appetite for a supplement," she added, sportively, as she led the way into the cosey little dining-room of the cottage, where they found a tempting repast spread especially for them, the others having already taken their morning meal.

"How nice in you, Cousin Elsie!" exclaimed Betty. "I wasn't expecting to eat another breakfast, but I find a rapidly coming appetite; these muffins and this coffee are so delicious."

"So they are," said Zoe. "I never knew anybody else quite so kindly thoughtful as mamma."

"I think I know several," Elsie rejoined; "but it is very pleasant to be so highly appreciated. Now, my dear girls, you will confer a favor if you will tell me in what way I can make the day pass most pleasantly to you."

"Thank you, cousin. It is a delightful morning for a drive, I think," said Betty; then went on to repeat what their hackman had said of the drive to the South Shore.

"It sounds pleasant. I think we will make up a party and try it," Elsie said. "You would like it, Zoe?"

"Yes, mamma, better than anything I know of beside. The man says that just there the beach has not been so thoroughly picked over for shells and other curiosities, and we may be able to find some worth having."

No one had made any special plans for the day, so all were ready to fall into this proposed by Zoe and Betty. Hacks were ordered—enough to hold all of their party now at hand—and they started.

They found the drive all it had been represented. For some distance their way lay along the bank of a long pond, pretty to look at and interesting as connected with old times and ways of life on the island. Their hackmen told them that formerly large flocks of sheep were raised by the inhabitants, and this pond was one of the places where the sheep were brought at a certain time of year to be washed and shorn. On arriving at their destination, they found a long stretch of sandy beach, with great thundering waves dashing upon it.

"Oh," cried Zoe and Betty, in delight, "it is like a bit of 'Sconset!"

"Look away yonder," said Lulu; "isn't that a fisherman's cart?"

"Yes," replied her father. "Suppose we go nearer and see what he is doing."

"Oh, yes; do let us, papa!" cried Lulu, always ready to go everywhere and see everything.

"You may run on with Max and Grace," he said; "some of us will follow presently."

He turned and offered his arm to Violet. "It is heavy walking in this deep sand; let me help you."

"Thank you; it is wearisome, and I am glad to have my husband's strong arm to lean upon," she answered, smiling sweetly up into his eyes as she accepted the offered aid.

The young girls and the children came running back to meet them. "He's catching blue-fish," they announced; "he has a good many in his cart."

"Now, watch him, Mamma Vi; you haven't had a chance to see just such fishing before," said Max. "See, he's whirling his drail; there! now he has sent it far out into the water. Now he's hauling it in, and—oh yes, a good big fish with it."

"What is a drail?" Violet asked.

"It is a hook with a long piece of lead above it covered with eel-skin," answered her husband.

"There it goes again!" she exclaimed. "It is a really interesting sight, but rather hard work, I should think."

When tired of watching the fisherman, they wandered back and forth along the beach in search of curiosities, picking up bits of sponge, rockweed, seaweed, and a greater variety of shells than they had been able to find on other parts of the shore which they had visited.

It was only when they had barely time enough left to reach home for a late dinner that they were all willing to enter the carriages and be driven away from the spot.

As they passed through the streets of the town, the crier was out with his hand-bell.

"Oh yes! oh yes! all the windows to be taken out of the Athenaeum to-day, and the Athenaeum to be elevated to-night."

After listening intently to several repetitions of the cry, they succeeded in making it out.

"But what on earth does he mean?" exclaimed Betty.

"Ventilated, I presume," replied the captain. "There was an exhibition there last night, and complaints were made that the room was close."

Toward evening of the next day our friends in the cliff cottages began to look for the return of the Edna with the four young men of their party. But night fell, and yet they had not arrived.

Elsie began to feel anxious, but tried not to allow her disturbance to be perceived, especially by Zoe, who seemed restless and ill at ease, going often out to the edge of the cliff and gazing long and intently toward that quarter of the horizon where she had seen the Edna disappear on the morning she sailed out of Nantucket harbor.

She sought her post of observation for the twentieth time just before sunset, and remained there till it grew too dark to see much beyond the line of breakers along the shore below.

Turning to re-enter the house, she found Captain Raymond standing by her side.

"O captain," she cried, "isn't it time the Edna was in?"

"I rather supposed they would be in a little earlier than this, but am not at all surprised that they are not," he answered, in a cheery tone. "Indeed, it is quite possible that they may not get in till to-morrow. When they left it was uncertain that they would come back to-day. So, my good sister, I think we have no cause for anxiety."

"Then I shall try not to be anxious," she said; "but it seems like a month since I parted from Ned, and it's a sore disappointment not to see him to-night. I don't know how Vi stands your long absences, captain."

"Don't you suppose it's about as hard for me as for her, considering how charming she is?" he asked, lightly.

"Perhaps it is; but men don't live in their affections as women do; love is only half the world to the most loving of them, I verily believe, while it's all the world to us."

"There is some truth in that," he acknowledged; "we men are compelled to give much time and thought to business, yet many of us are ardent lovers or affectionate husbands. I, for one, am extremely fond of wife and children."

"Yes, I am sure of it, and quite as sure that Ned is very fond of me."

"There isn't a doubt of it. I think I have never seen a happier couple than you seem to be, or than Leland and his Elsie; yet Violet and I will not yield the palm to either of you."

"And was there ever such a mother-in-law as mamma?" said Zoe. "I don't remember my own mother very distinctly, but I do not believe I could have loved her much better than I do Edward's mother."

"Words would fail me in an attempt to describe all her excellences," he responded. "Well, Lulu, what is it?" as the child came running toward them.

"Tea is ready, papa, and Grandma Rose says 'please come to it.'"

Shortly after leaving the table, the captain, noticing that Zoe seemed anxious and sad, offered to go into the town and inquire if anything had been seen or heard of the Edna.

"Oh, thank you," she said, brightening; "but won't you take me along?"

"Certainly, if you think you will not find the walk too long and fatiguing."

"Not a bit," she returned, hastily donning hat and shawl.

"Have you any objection to my company, Levis?" Violet asked, with sportive look and tone.

"My love, I shall be delighted, if you feel equal to the exertion," he answered, with a look of pleasure that said more than the words.

"Quite," she said. "Max, I know you like to wait on me; will you please bring my hat and shawl from the bedroom there?"

"Yes, indeed, with pleasure, Mamma Vi," the boy answered, with alacrity, as he hastened to obey.

"Three won't make as agreeable a number for travelling the sidewalks as four, and I ought to be looking out for Bob," remarked Betty; "so if anybody will ask me to go along perhaps I may consent."

"Yes, do come," said Zoe. "I'll take you for my escort."

"And we will walk decorously behind the captain and Vi, feeling no fear because under the protection of his wing," added the lively Betty. "But do you think, sir, you have the strength and ability to protect three helpless females?" she asked, suddenly wheeling round upon him.

"I have not a doubt I can render them all the aid and protection they are at all likely to need in this peaceful, law-abiding community," he answered, with becoming gravity, as he gave his arm to his wife, and led the way from the house.

"It is a rather lonely but by no means dangerous walk, Cousin Betty," he added, holding the gate open for her and the others to pass out.

"Lonely enough for me to indulge in a moderate amount of fun and laughter, is it not, sir?" she returned, in an inquiring tone.

She seemed full of life and gayety, while Zoe was unusually quiet.

They walked into the town and all the way down to the wharf; but the Edna was not there, nor could they hear any news of her. Zoe seemed full of anxiety and distress, though the others tried to convince her there was no occasion for it.

"Come, come, cheer up, little woman," the captain said, seeing her eyes fill with tears. "If we do not see or hear from them by this time to-morrow night, we may begin to be anxious; but till then there is really no need."

"There, Zoe, you have an opinion that is worth something, the captain being an experienced sailor," remarked Betty. "So thry to be aisy, my dear, and if ye can't be aisy, be as aisy as ye can!"

Zoe laughed faintly at Betty's jest; then, with a heroic effort, put on an air of cheerfulness, and contributed her full quota to the sprightly chat on the homeward walk.

She kept up her cheerful manner till she had parted from the rest for the night, but wet her solitary pillow with tears ere her anxiety and loneliness were forgotten in sleep.

Her spirits revived with the new day, for the sun rose clear and bright, the sea was calm, and she said to herself, "Oh, surely the Edna will come in before night, and Ned and I will be together again!"

Many times that day both she and his mother scanned intently the wide waste of waters, and watched with eager eyes the approach of some distant sail, hoping it might prove the one they looked and longed for.

But their hopes were disappointed again and again; noon passed, and the Edna was not in sight.

"Mamma, what can be keeping them?" sighed Zoe, as the two stood together on the brow of the hill, still engaged in their fruitless search.

"Not necessarily anything amiss," Elsie answered. "You remember that when they went it was quite uncertain whether they would return earlier than to-night; so let us not suffer ourselves to be uneasy because they are not yet here."

"I am ashamed of myself," Zoe said. "I wish I could learn to be as patient and cheerful as you are, mamma."

"I trust you will be more so by the time you are my age," Elsie said, putting an arm about Zoe's waist and drawing her close, with a tender caress. "I still at times feel the risings of impatience; I have not fully learned to 'let patience have her perfect work.'

"There is an old proverb, 'A watched pot never boils,'" she added, with sportive look and tone. "Suppose we seat ourselves in the veranda yonder and try to forget the Edna for awhile in an interesting story. I have a new book which looks very interesting, and has been highly commended in some of the reviews. We will get papa to read it aloud to us while we busy ourselves with our fancy-work. Shall we not?"

Zoe assented, though with rather an indifferent air, and they returned to the house.

Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, the only ones they found there, the others being all down on the beach, fell readily into the plan; the book and the work were brought out, and the reading began.

It was a good, well-told story, and even Zoe presently became thoroughly interested.

Down on the beach Violet and the captain sat together in the sand, he searching sea and sky with a spyglass.

She noticed a look of anxiety creeping over his face.

"What is it, Levis?" she asked.

"I fear there is a heavy storm coming," he said. "I wish with all my heart the Edna was in. But I trust they have been wise enough not to put out to sea and are safe in harbor some where."

"I hope so, indeed," she responded, fervently, "for we have much precious freight aboard of her. But the sky does not look very threatening to me, Levis."

"Does it not? I wish I could say the same. But, little wife, are you weatherwise or otherwise?" he asked, laughingly.

"Not wise in any way except as I may lay claim to the wisdom of my other half," she returned, adopting his sportive tone.

"Ah," she exclaimed the next moment, "I, too, begin to see some indications of a storm; it is growing very dark yonder in the northeast!"

Betty came hurrying up, panting and frightened. "O captain, be a dear, good man, and say you don't think we are to have a storm directly—before Bob and the rest get safe to shore!"

"I should be glad to oblige you, Betty," he said, "but I cannot say that; and what would it avail if I did? Could my opinion stay the storm?"

"Zoe will be frightened to death about Edward," she said, turning her face seaward again as she spoke, and gazing with tear-dimmed eyes at the black, threatening cloud fast spreading from horizon to zenith, "and I—oh, Bob is nearer to me than any other creature on earth!"

"Let us hope for the best, Betty," the captain said, kindly; "it is quite possible, perhaps I might say probable, that the Edna is now lying at anchor in some safe harbor, and will stay there till this storm is over."

"Oh, thank you for telling me that!" she cried. "I'll just try to believe it is so and not fret, though it would pretty nearly kill me if anything should happen to Bob. Still, it will do no good to fret."

"Prayer would do far more," said Violet, softly—"prayer to Him whom even the winds and the sea obey. But isn't it time to go in, Levis? the storm seems to be coming up so very fast."

"Yes," he said, rising and helping her to get on her feet. "Where are the children?"

"Yonder," said Betty, nodding in their direction. "I'll tell them—shall I?"

"No, thank you; you and Violet hurry on to the house as fast as you can; I will call the children, follow with them, and probably overtake you in time to help you up the stairs."

Before they were all safely housed, the wind had come down upon them and was blowing almost a gale. It was with considerable difficulty the captain succeeded in getting them all up the long steep flights of stairs by which they must reach the top of the cliff.

About the time they started for the house the party on the veranda became aware that a storm was rising.

Zoe saw it first, and dropped her work in her lap with the cry, "Oh, I knew it would be so! I just knew it! A dreadful storm is coming, and the Edna will be wrecked, and Edward will drown. I shall never see him again!"

The others were too much startled and alarmed at the moment to notice her wild words or make any reply. They all rose and hurried into the house, and Mr. Dinsmore began closing windows and doors.

"The children, papa!" cried Elsie; "they must be down on the beach, and—"

"The captain is with them, and I will go to their assistance," he replied, before she could finish her sentence.

He rushed out as he spoke, to return the next moment with Walter in his arms and the rest closely following.

"These are all safe, and for the others I must trust the Lord," Elsie said softly to herself as her father set Walter down, and she drew the child to her side.

But her cheek was very pale, and her lips trembled as she pressed them to the little fellow's forehead.

He looked up wonderingly. "Mamma, what is the matter? You're not afraid of wind and thunder?"

"No, dear; but I fear for your brothers out on this stormy sea," she whispered in his ear. "Pray for them, darling, that if God will, they may reach home in safety."

"Yes, mamma, I will; and I believe He'll bring them. Is it 'cause Ned's in the ship Zoe's crying so?"

"Yes; I must try to comfort her." And putting him gently aside, Elsie went to her young daughter-in-law, who had thrown herself upon a couch, and with her head pillowed on its arm, her face hidden in her hands, was weeping and sobbing as if her heart would break.

"Zoe, love," Elsie said, kneeling at her side and putting her arms about her, "do not despair. 'Behold, the Lord's hand is not shortened that it cannot save; neither His ear heavy that it cannot hear.'"

"No, but—He does let people drown; and oh, I can never live without my husband!"

"Dear child, there is no need to consider that question till it is forced upon you. Try, dear one, to let that alone, and rest in the promise, 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.'"

The captain had drawn near, and was standing close beside them.

"Mother has given you the best of advice, my little sister," he said, in his kind, cheery way; "and for your further comfort let me say that it is altogether likely the Edna is safe in harbor somewhere. I think they probably perceived the approach of the storm in season to be warned not to put out to sea till it should be over."

"Do you really think so, captain?" she asked, lifting her head to wipe away her tears.

He assured her that he did; and thinking him a competent judge of what seamen would be likely to do in such an emergency, she grew calm for a time, though her face was still sad; and till darkness shut out the sight, she cast many an anxious glance from the window upon the raging waters.

"If not in harbor, they must be in great peril?" Mr. Dinsmore remarked, aside, and half inquiringly, to the captain.

"Yes, sir; yes, indeed. I am far more anxious than I should like to own to their mother, Zoe, or Violet."

It was near their tea hour when the storm burst; they gathered about the table as usual, but there was little eating done except by the children, and the meal was not enlivened, as was customary with them, by cheerful, sprightly chat, though efforts in that direction were not wanting on the part of several of their number.

The storm raged on with unabated fury, and Zoe, as she listened to the howling of the wind and the deafening thunder peals, grew wild with terror for her husband. She could not be persuaded to go to bed, even when her accustomed hour for retiring was long past, but would sit in her chair, moaning, "O Ned! Ned! my husband, my dear, dear husband! Oh, if I could only do anything to help you! My darling, my darling! you are all I have, and I can't live without you!" then spring up and pace the floor, sobbing, wringing her hands, and sometimes, as a fierce blast shook the cottage or a more deafening thunder peal crashed over-head, even shrieking out in terror and distress.

In vain Elsie tried to soothe and quiet her with reassuring, comforting words or caresses and endearments.

"Oh, I can't bear it!" she cried again and again. "Ned is all I have, and it will kill me to lose him. Nobody can know how I suffer at the very thought."

"My dear," Elsie said, with a voice trembling with emotion, "you forget that Edward is my dearly loved son, and that I have two others, who are no less dear to their mother's heart, on board that vessel."

"Forgive me, mamma," Zoe sobbed, taking Elsie's hand and dropping tears and kisses upon it. "I did forget, and it was very shameful, for you are so kind and loving to me, putting aside your own grief and anxiety to help me in bearing mine. But how is it yon can be so calm?"

"Because, dear, I am enabled to stay my heart on God, my Almighty Friend, my kind, wise, Heavenly Father. Listen, love, to these sweet words: 'O Lord God of hosts, who is a strong Lord like unto Thee? or to thy faithfulness round about Thee? Thou rulest the roaring of the sea: when the waves thereof arise, Thou stillest them.'"

"They are beautiful," said Betty, who sat near, in a despondent attitude, her elbow on her knee, her cheek in her hand. "Oh, Cousin Elsie, I would give all the world for your faith, and to be able to find the comfort and support in Bible promises and teachings that you do!"

The outer door opened, and Mr. Dinsmore and Captain Raymond came in, their waterproof coats dripping with rain.

They had been out on the edge of the cliff taking an observation, though it was little they could see through the darkness; but occasionally the lightning's lurid flash lit up the scene for a moment, and afforded a glimpse of the storm-tossed deep.

"Be comforted, ladies," the captain said; "there are at least no signs of any vessel in distress; if any such were near, she would undoubtedly be firing signal-guns. So I think we may hope my conjecture that our boys are safe in harbor somewhere, is correct."

"And the storm is passing over," said Mr. Dinsmore; "the thunder and lightning have almost ceased."

"But the wind has not fallen, and that is what makes the great danger, grandpa, isn't it?" asked Zoe. "Oh, hark, what was that? I heard a step and voice!" And rushing to the outer door as she spoke, she threw it open, and found herself in her husband's arms.

"O Ned, Ned!" she cried, in a transport of joy, "is it really you? Oh, I thought I should never see you again, you dear, dear, dear boy!"

She clung round his neck, and he held her close, with many a caress and endearing word, drawing her a little to one side to let his brothers step past them and embrace the tender mother, who wept for joy as she received them, almost as if restored to her from the very gates of death.

"There, love, I must let you go while I take off this dripping coat," Edward said, at length, releasing Zoe. "How wet I have made you! I fear your pretty dress is quite spoiled," he added, with a tender, regretful smile.

"That's nothing," she answered, with a gay laugh; "you'll only have to buy me another, and you've plenty of money."

"Plenty to supply all the wants of my little wife, I hope."

"Ah, mother dear," as he threw aside his wet overcoat and took her in his arms, "were you alarmed for the safety of your three sons?"

"Yes, indeed I was," she said, returning his kisses; "and I feel that I have great cause for thankfulness in that you are all brought back to me unharmed. 'Oh, that men would praise the Lord for His goodness and for His wonderful works to the children of men!'"

Betty had started up on the entrance of her cousins, glancing eagerly from one dripping figure to another, then staggered back and leaned, pale and trembling, against the wall. In the excitement no one had noticed her, but now she exclaimed, in tremulous accents, and catching her breath, "Bob—my brother; where is he?"

"O Betty," Harold answered, turning hastily at the sound of her voice, "forgive our thoughtlessness in not explaining that at once! Bob went to a hotel; he said we could bring the news of his safety and our own, and it wasn't worth while for him to travel all the way up here through the storm."

"No, of course not; I wouldn't have had him do so," she returned, with a sigh of relief, her face resuming its wonted gayety of expression; "but I'm mighty glad he's safe on terra firma."

"But your story, boys; let us have it," said Mr. Dinsmore.

"Yes, we have a story, grandpa," said Edward, with emphasis and excitement; "but Harold should tell it; he could do it better than I."

"No, no," Harold said; "you are as good a story-teller as I."

"There!" laughed Herbert. "I believe I'll have to do it myself, or with your extreme politeness to each other you'll keep the audience waiting all night.

"The storm came suddenly upon us when we were about half way home, or maybe something more; and it presently became evident that we were in imminent danger of wreck. The captain soon concluded that our only chance was in letting the Edna drive right before the wind, which would take us in exactly the direction we wished to pursue, but with rather startling celerity; and that was what he did.

"She flew over the water like a wild winged bird, and into the harbor with immense velocity. Safely enough, though, till we were there, almost at the wharf, when we struck against another vessel anchored near, and actually cut her in two, spilling the crew into the water."

"Don't look so horrified, mother dear," said Harold, as Herbert paused for breath; "no one was drowned, no one even hurt."

"Barring the wetting and the fright, as the Irish say," added Edward.

"But the latter was a real hurt," said Harold; "for the cry they sent up as they made the sudden, involuntary plunge from their berths, where they were probably asleep at the moment of collision, into the cold, deep water of the harbor, was something terrible to hear."

"Enough to curdle one's blood," added Herbert.

"And you are quite sure all were picked up?" asked Elsie, her sweet face full of pity for the unfortunate sufferers.

"Yes, mother, quite sure," answered Edward; "the captain of the craft said, in my hearing, that no one was missing."

"And the captain of the other will probably have pretty heavy damages to pay," remarked Mr. Dinsmore.

"I presume so," said Edward; "but even that would be far better than the loss of his vessel, with all the lives of those on board."

"Money could not pay for those last," Elsie said, low and tremulously, as she looked at her three tall sons through a mist of unshed tears; "and I will gladly help the Edna's captain to meet the damages incurred in his efforts to save them."

"Just like you, mother," Edward said, giving her a look of proud, fond affection.

"I entirely approve, and shall be ready to contribute my share," said her father. "But it is very late, or rather early—long past midnight—and we should be getting to bed. But let us first unite in a prayer of thanksgiving to our God for all His mercies, especially this—that our dear boys are restored to us unharmed."

They knelt, and led by him, all hearts united in a fervent outpouring of gratitude and praise to the Giver of all good.



CHAPTER XIII.

"Hitherto hath the Lord helped us."—1 SAMUEL 7:12.

It was a lovely Sabbath afternoon, still and bright; Elsie sat alone on the veranda, enjoying the beauty of the sea and the delicious breeze coming from it. She had been reading, and the book lay in her lap, one hand resting upon the open page; but she was deep in meditation, her eyes following the restless movements of the waves that, with the rising tide, dashed higher and higher upon the beach below.

For the last half hour she had been the solitary tenant of the veranda, while the others enjoyed their siesta or a lounge upon the beach.

Presently a noiseless step drew near her chair, some one bent down over her and softly kissed her cheek.

"Papa" she said, looking up into his face with smiling eyes, "you have come to sit with me? Let me give you this chair," and she would have risen to do so, but he laid his hand on her shoulder, saying, "No; sit still; I will take this," drawing up another and seating himself therein close at her side.

"Do you know that I have been watching you from the doorway there for the last five minutes?" he asked.

"No, sir; I deemed myself quite alone," she said. "Why did you not let me know that my dear father, whose society I prize so highly, was so near?"

"Because you seemed so deep in thought, and evidently such happy thought, that I was loath to disturb it."

"Yes," she said, "they were happy thoughts. I have seemed to myself, for the last few days, to be in the very land of Beulah, so delightful has been the sure hope—I may say certainty—that Jesus is mine and I am His; that I am His servant forever, for time and for eternity, as truly and entirely His as words can express. Is it not a sweet thought, papa? is it not untold bliss to know that we may—that we shall serve Him forever? that nothing can ever separate us from the love of Christ?"

"It is, indeed—Christ who is our life. He says, 'Because I live, ye shall live also;' thus He is our life. Is He not our life also because He is the dearest of all friends to us—His own people?"

"Yes; and how the thought of His love, His perfect sympathy, His infinite power to help and to save, gives strength and courage to face the unknown future. 'The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?' 'Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.'

"In view of the many dangers that lie around our every path, the many terrible trials that may be sent to any one of us, I often wonder how those who do not trust in this almighty Friend can have the least real, true happiness. Were it my case, I should be devoured with anxiety and fears for myself and my dear ones."

"But as it is," her father said, gazing tenderly upon her, "you are able to leave the future, for them and for yourself, in His kind, wise, all-powerful hands, knowing that nothing can befall you without His will, and that He will send no trial that shall not be for your good, and none that He will not give you strength to endure?"

"Yes, that is it, papa; and oh, what rest it is! One feels so safe and happy; so free from fear and care; like a little child whose loving earthly father is holding it by the hand or in his strong, kind arms."

"And you have loved and trusted Him since you were a very little child," he remarked, half musingly.

"Yes, papa; I cannot remember when I did not; and could there be a greater cause for gratitude?"

"No; such love and trust are worth more to the happy possessor than the wealth of the universe. But there was a time when, though my little girl had it, I was altogether ignorant of it, and marvelled greatly at her love for God's word and her joy and peace in believing. I shall never cease to bless God for giving me such a child."

"Nor I to thank Him for my dear father," she responded, putting her hand into his, with the very same loving, confiding gesture she had been wont to use in childhood's days.

His fingers closed over it, and he held it fast in a warm, loving grasp, while they continued their talk concerning the things that lay nearest their hearts—the love of the Master, His infinite perfection, the interests of His kingdom, the many great and precious promises of His word—thus renewing their strength and provoking one another to love and to good works.

"Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another; and the Lord hearkened, and heard it; and a book of remembrance was written before Him for them that feared the Lord, and that thought upon His name.

"And they shall be mine, saith the Lord of hosts, in that day when I make up my jewels; and I will spare them, as a man spareth his own son that serveth him."

Ere another week had rolled its round, events had occurred which tested the sustaining power of their faith in God, and the joy of the Lord proved to be indeed their strength, keeping their hearts from failing in an hour of sore anxiety and distress.

The evening was bright with the radiance of a full moon and unusually warm for the season; so pleasant was it out of doors that most of our friends preferred the veranda to the cottage parlors, and some of the younger ones were strolling about the town or the beach.

Betty had gone down to the latter place, taking Lulu with her, with the captain's permission, both promising not to go out of sight of home.

"Oh, how lovely the sea is to-night, with the moon shining so brightly on all the little dancing waves!" exclaimed Lulu, as they stood side by side close to the water's edge.

"Yes," said Betty; "doesn't it make you feel like going in?"

"Do people ever bathe at night?" asked Lulu.

"I don't know why they shouldn't," returned her companion.

"It might be dangerous, perhaps," suggested Lulu.

"Why should it?" said Betty; "it's almost as light as day. Oh, Bob," perceiving her brother close at hand, "don't you want to go in? I will if you will go with me."

"I don't care if I do," he answered, after a moment's reflection: "a moonlight bath in the sea would be something out of the common; and there seems to be just surf enough to make it enjoyable."

"Yes; and my bathing-suit is in the bath-house yonder. I can be ready in five minutes."

"Can you? So can I; we'll go in if only for a few minutes. Won't you go with us, Lulu?"

"I'd like to," she said, "but I can't without leave; and I know papa wouldn't give it, for I had a bath this morning, and he says one a day is quite enough."

"I was in this morning," said Bob; "Betty, too, I think, and—I say, Bet, it strikes me I've heard that it's a little risky to go in at night."

"Not such a night as this, I'm sure, Bob; why, it's as light as day; and if there is danger it can be only about enough to give spice to the undertaking."

With the last word she started for the bath-house, and Bob, not to be outdone in courage, hurried toward another appropriated to his use.

Lulu stood waiting for their return, not at all afraid to be left alone with not another creature in sight on the beach. Yet the solitude disturbed her as the thought arose that Bob and Betty might be about to put themselves in danger, while no help was at hand for their rescue. The nearest she knew of was at the cottages on the bluff, and for her to climb those long flights of stairs and give the alarm in case anything went wrong with the venturesome bathers, would be a work of time.

"I'd better not wait for them to get into danger, for they would surely drown before help could reach them," she said to herself, after a moment's thought. "I'll only wait till I see them really in, and then hurry home to see if somebody can't come down and be ready to help if they should begin to drown."

But as they passed her, presently, on their way to the water, Bob said: "We're trusting you to keep our secret, Lulu; don't tell tales on us."

She made no reply, but thought within herself, "That shows he doesn't think he's doing exactly right. I'm afraid it must be quite dangerous."

But while his remark and injunction increased her apprehensions for them, it also made her hesitate to carry to their friends the news of their escapade till she should see that it brought them into actual danger and need of assistance.

She watched them tremblingly as they waded slowly out beyond the surf into the smooth, swelling waves, where they began to swim.

For a few moments all seemed to be well; then came a sudden shrill cry from Betty, followed by a hoarser one from Bob, which could mean nothing else than fright and danger.

For an instant Lulu was nearly paralyzed with terror; but rousing herself by a determined effort, she shouted at the top of her voice, "Don't give up; I'll go for help as fast as ever I can," and instantly set off for home at her utmost speed.