urn was anything but enchanting.
Mr. Bilkins was by no means disposed to kill the fatted calf. He would
much rather have killed the Prodigal Son. However, there was always this
chance: he might never come back.

The tides rose and fell at the Rivermouth wharves; the summer moonlight
and the winter snow, in turn, bleached its quiet streets; and the two
years had nearly gone by. In the mean time nothing had been heard of
O'Rourke. If he ever received the five or six letters sent to him, he
did not fatigue himself by answering them.

"Larry's all right," said hopeful Margaret. "If any harum had come to
the gossoon, we'd have knowed it. It's the bad news that travels fast."

Mr. Bilkins was not so positive about that. It had taken a whole year to
find out that O'Rourke had not drowned himself.

The period of Mr. O'Rourke's enlistment had come to an end. Two months
slipped by, and he had neglected to brighten River-mouth with his
presence. There were many things that might have detained him,
difficulties in getting his prize-papers or in drawing his pay; but
there was no reason why he might not have written. The days were
beginning to grow long to Margaret, and vague forebodings of misfortune
possessed her.

Perhaps we had better look up Mr. O'Rourke.

He had seen some rough times, during those three years, and some harder
work than catching cunners at the foot of Anchor Street, or setting
out crocuses in Mr. Bil-kins's back garden. He had seen battles and
shipwreck, and death in many guises; but they had taught him nothing,
as the sequel will show. With his active career in the navy we shall not
trouble ourselves; we take him up at a date a little prior to the close
of his term of service.

Several months before, he had been transferred from the blockading
squadron to a gun-boat attached to the fleet operating against the forts
defending New Orleans. The forts had fallen, the fleet had passed on to
the city, and Mr. O'Rourke's ship lay off in the stream, binding up her
wounds. In three days he would receive his discharge, and the papers
entitling him to a handsome amount of prize-money in addition to his
pay. With noble contempt for so much good fortune, Mr. O'Rourke dropped
over the bows of the gun-boat one evening and managed to reach the
levee. In the city he fell in with some soldiers, and, being of a
convivial nature, caroused with them that night, and next day enlisted
in a cavalry regiment.

Desertion in th