rdens, divided by an iron railing. The
Millars' garden was very untidy and forlorn, and filled with nettles,
and thistles, and groundsel, and all kinds of weeds, for Mr. Millar did
not care for gardening, and Mrs. Millar had six little children, and had
no time to look after it.

But our garden was the admiration of every one who visited the island.
My grandfather and I were at work in it every fine day, and took a pride
in keeping it as neat as possible. Although it was so near the sea, our
garden produced most beautiful vegetables and fruit, and the borders
were filled with flowers, cabbage-roses, and pansies, and wall-flowers,
and many other hardy plants which were not afraid of the sea air.

Outside the garden was a good-sized field--full of small hillocks,
over which the wild rabbits and hares, with which the island abounded,
were continually scampering. In this field were kept a cow and two
goats, to supply the two families with milk and butter. Beyond it was
the rocky shore, and a little pier built out into the sea.

[Illustration: THE LANDING STAGE]

On this pier I used to stand every Monday morning, to watch for the
steamer which called at the island once a week. It was a great event to
us when the steamer came. My grandfather and I, and Mr. and Mrs. Millar
and the children, all came down to the shore to welcome it. This steamer
brought our provisions for the week, from a town some miles off, and
often brought a letter for Mr. Millar, or a newspaper for my
grandfather.

My grandfather did not get many letters, for there were not many people
that he knew. He had lived on that lonely island the greater part of his
life, and had been quite shut out from the world. All his relations were
dead now, except my father, and what had become of him we did not know.
I had never seen him, for he went away some time before I was born.

My father was a sailor, a fine, tall, strong young fellow, my
grandfather used to say. He had brought my mother to the island, and
left her in my grandfather's care whilst he went on a voyage to
Australia. He went from the island in that same little steamer which
called every Monday morning. My grandfather stood on the end of the pier
as the steamer went out of sight, and my mother waved her handkerchief
to him as long as any smoke was seen on the horizon. Grandfather has
often told me how young and pretty she looked that summer morning. My
father had promised to write soon, but no lette