s the storm broke. Goodwife Pepperell
was standing in the door gazing anxiously toward the river, when they
dashed out of the bushes and, scudding past her, stood dripping on
the hearth-stone. Her husband was just hanging his gun over the
chimney-piece, and the noise of their entrance was drowned out by a
clap of thunder; so when he turned about and saw the three drenched
figures it was no wonder that for an instant he was too surprised to
speak.

"Well, of all things!" he said at last, holding out his hand to
Captain Sanders. "What in God's providence brings thee here, Thomas?
Thou art welcome indeed. 'T is a long time since I have seen thee."

"God's providence ye may call it," answered the Captain, shaking the
Goodman's hand as if he were pumping out the hold of a sinking ship,
"and I 'll not gainsay it. The truth is I overhauled these small craft
floundering around in the tide-wash with water over their scuppers 'n'
all but wrecked, so I took 'em in tow and brought 'em ashore!"

Their mother, meanwhile, had not waited for explanations. Seeing how
chilled they were, she had hurried the children to the loft above
the one room of the cabin and was already giving them a rub-down and
getting out dry clean clothes while they told her their adventure.

"Thank God you are safe," she said, clasping them both in her arms,
when the tale was told.

"Thank Captain Sanders as well, Mother," said Daniel. "Had it not been
for him, I doubt if we could have reached the shore."

"Let this be a lesson to you, then," said the Goodwife, loosening her
clasp and picking up the wet clothing. "You know well about the tide!
Nancy, child, why art thou so wild and reckless? Thou art the cause of
much anxiety."

At her mother's reproof, gentle though it was, poor Nancy flopped over
on her stomach, and, burying her face in her hands, gave way to tears.

"It 's all because I am so wicked," she moaned. "My sins are as
scarlet! Oh, Mother, dost think God will cause the lightning to strike
us dead to punish me?" She shuddered with fear as a flash shone
through the chinks of the logs and for an instant lighted the dim
loft.

Her mother put down the wet clothes and, lifting her little daughter
tenderly in her arms, laid her on her bed. "God maketh the rain to
fall on both the just and the unjust," she said soothingly. "Rest here
while I go down and get supper."

She covered her warmly with a homespun blanket, and, accompanied by
Dan, made