ll Gate,--Reuben glowing with excitement, and mindful of
Kidd and of his buried treasure along these shores. Then came the
turreted Bridewell, and at last the spires, the forest of masts, with
all that prodigious, crushing, bewildering effect with which the first
sight of a great city weighs upon the thought of a country-taught boy.

"Now mind the rogues, Reuben," said Captain Saul, when they were fairly
alongside the dock; "and keep by your bunk for a day or two, boy. Don't
stray too far from the vessel,--Princess, Captain Saul, remember."

XXVI.

The Doctor is not a little shocked by the note which he receives from
Reuben, and which comes too late for the interception of the boy upon
the river. He writes to Mrs. Brindlock, begging the kind offices of her
husband in looking after the lad, until such time as he can come down
for his recovery. The next day, to complete his mortification, he
receives the epistle of Brother Brummem.

The good Doctor cannot rightly understand, in his simplicity, how such
apparent headlong tendency to sin should belong to this child of prayer.
At times he thinks he can trace back somewhat of the adventurous spirit
of the poor lad to the restless energy of his father, the Major; was it
not possible also--and the thought weighed upon him grievously--that he
inherited from him besides a waywardness in regard to spiritual matters,
and that "the sins of the fathers" were thus visited terribly upon the
children? The growing vagabondage of the boy distressed him the more by
reason of his own responsible connection with the little daughter of his
French friend. How should he, who could not guide in even courses the
child of his own loins, presume to conduct the little exile from the
heathen into paths of piety?

And yet, strange to say, the character of the blithe Adele,
notwithstanding the terrible nature of her early associations, seems to
fuse more readily into agreement with the moral atmosphere about her
than does that of the recreant boy. There may not be, indeed, perfect
accord; but there are at least no sharp and fatal antagonisms to
overcome. If the lithe spirit of the girl bends under the grave
teachings of the Doctor, it bends with a charming grace, and rises again
smilingly, when sober speech is done, like the floweret she is. And if
her mirth is sometimes irrepressible through the long hours of their
solemn Sundays, it breaks up like bubbles from the deep quiet bosom of a
river,