joy than I dare to think of."

"But we have each other now, Uncle," said Dorothy, soothingly and yet
with spirit. "It can't be so very miserable and dreadful with you and
Donald and me left!"

"Bless you, my little comforter!--No. God be praised, we still have a
great deal to be thankful for."

"Yes, and there are Liddy and Jack, and dear old Nero," said Donald,
partly because he wished to add his mite toward this more cheerful view
of things, but mainly because he felt choked, and it would be as well to
say something, if only to prove to himself that he was not giving way to
unmanly emotion.

"Oh, yes--Jack!" added Dorry. "If it were not for Jack where should we
twins be, I'd like to know!"

Said in an ordinary tone of voice, this would have sounded rather
flippant, but Dorry uttered the words with true solemnity.

"I think of that often," said Donald, in the same spirit. "It seems so
wonderful, too, that we didn't get drowned, or at least die of exposure,
and--"

Dorothy interrupted him with an animated "Yes, indeed! Such little
teenty bits of babies!"

"It does seem like a miracle," Uncle George said.

"But Jack," continued Donald, warmly, "was such a wonderful swimmer."

"Yes, and wonderful catcher!" said Dorothy. "Just think how he caught
us--Ugh! It makes me shiver to think of being tossed in the air over
those black, raging waves. We must have looked like little bundles
flying from the ship. Wasn't Jack just _wonderful_, to hold on to us as
he did, and work so hard looking for--for the others, too. Mercy! if we
only get our feet wet now, Liddy seems to think it's all over with
us,--and yet, look what we stood then! Little mites of babies, soaked to
the skin, out in an open boat on the ocean all that terrible time."

"Much we cared for that," was Don's comment. "Probably we laughed, or
played pat-a-cake, or--"

"Played pat-a-cake!" interrupted Dorry, with intense scorn of Donald's
ignorance of baby ways--"babies only six weeks old playing pat-a-cake! I
guess not. It's most likely we kicked and screamed like anything; isn't
it, Uncle?"

Uncle nodded, with a strange mixture of gravity and amusement, and
Donald added, earnestly:

"Whether we cried or not, Jack was a trump. A real hero, wasn't he,
Uncle? I can see him now--catching us; then, when the other boat
capsized, chucking us into the arms of some one in our boat, and
plunging into the sea to save all he could, but able to get back alone,
af