nto the wind, and the boat was dropped into the green
water. Slowly they lowered me into it, for I was still helpless, Dorothy
and her mother and Aunt Lucy were got down, and finally Mr. Marmaduke
stepped gingerly from the sea-ladder over the gunwale. The cutter leaped
under the strong strokes up the river with the tide. Then, as we rounded
the bend, we were suddenly astonished to see people gathered on the
landing at the foot of the lawn, where they had run, no doubt, in a
flurry at sight of the ship below. In the front of the group stood
out a strangely familiar figure.

"Why," exclaimed Dolly, "it is Ivie Rawlinson!"

Ivie it was, sure enough. And presently, when we drew a little closer,
he gave one big shout and whipped off the hat from his head; and off,
too, came the caps from the white heads of Scipio and Chess and Johnson
behind him. Our oars were tossed, Ivie caught our bows, and reached his
hand to Dorothy. It was fitting that she should be the first to land at
Carvel Hall.

"'Twas yere bonny face I seed first, Miss Dolly," he cried, the tears
coursing down the scars of his cheeks. "An' syne I kennt weel the young
master was here. Noo God be praised for this blythe day, that Mr.
Richard's cam to his ain at last!"

But Scipio and Chess could only blubber as they helped him to lift me
out, Dolly begging them to be careful. As they carried me up the
familiar path to the pillared porch, the first I asked Ivie was of Patty,
and next why he had left Gordon's. She was safe and well, despite the
Tories, and herself had sent him to take charge of Carvel Hall as soon as
ever Judge Bordley had brought her the news of its restoration to me. He
had supplied her with another overseer. Thanks to the good judge and to
Colonel Lloyd, who had looked to my interests since Grafton was fled,
Ivie had found the old place in good order, all the negroes quiet, and
impatient with joy against my arrival.

It is time, my children, to bring this story to a close. I would I might
write of those delicious spring days I spent with Dorothy at Carvel Hall,
waited on by the old servants of my grandfather. At our whim my chair
would be moved from one to another of the childhood haunts; on cool days
we sat in the sun by the dial, where the flowers mingled their odours
with the salt breezes off the Chesapeake; or anon, when it was warmer, in
the summer-house my mother loved, or under the shade of the great trees
on the lawn, looking out over