d himself in
positive danger, he would have fired a gun; and in that case, though
we are not pilots, every one of us would have hastened to his
assistance."

"You see, Willis," said Mrs. Wolston, "God comes to ease your mind;
were we to allow you to go to the sloop now, the thing is simply
impossible."

"I have my own idea about that," insisted Willis, whilst he kept
beating a tatoo on the isinglass window panes.

Whilst thus chafing like a caged lion, Wolston's youngest daughter
went towards him, and gently putting her hand in his, said,
"Sweetheart" (for so she had been accustomed to address him), "do you
remember when, during the voyage, you used to look at me very closely,
and that one evening I went boldly up to you and asked you why you
did so?"

"Yes, Miss Sophia, I recollect."

"Do you remember the answer you gave me?"

"Yes, I told you that I had left in England, on her mother's bosom, a
little girl who would now be about your own age, and that I could not
observe the wind play amongst the curls of your fair hair without
thinking of her, and that it sometimes made my breast swell like the
mizen-top-sail before the breeze."

"Yes, and when I promised to keep out of your sight, not to reawaken
your grief, you told me it was a kind of grief that did you more good
than harm, and that the more it made you grieve, the happier you would
be."

"All true:" replied the sailor, whose excitement was melting away
before the soft tones of the child like hoar frost in the sunshine.

"Then I promised to come and talk to you about your Susan every day;
and did I not keep my word?"

"Certainly, Miss Sophia; and it is only bare justice to say that you
gracefully yielded to all my fatherly whims, and even went so far as
to wear a brown dress oftener than another, because I said that my
little Susan wore that color the last time I kissed her."

"Oh, but that is a secret, Willis."

"Yes, but I am going to tell all our secrets--that is an idea of mine.
You then went and learned Susan's mother's favorite song, with which
you would sometimes sing me to sleep, like a great baby that I am, and
make me fancy that I was surrounded by my wife and daughter, and was
comfortably smoking my pipe in my own cottage, with a glass of grog at
my elbow."

Willis said this so earnestly, that the smile called forth by the
oddness of the remark scarcely dared to show itself on the lips of the
listeners.

"Very well," resumed the lit