him a tolerably good education, and training him
for his own honest calling.

O'Neill grew into a fine, hearty, brave lad,--not at all conceited or
haughty in his ways, though he was proud, he scarcely knew why, of his
Irish name,--always treasured up his locket of gold, and often declared
that he could remember the head from which that hair was cut--his
mother's--and how he had seen it shut away under the coffin-lid, the
very day that his nurse set out with him for London. He said, too,
that he could remember his home; a grand old castle, near a lake, and a
great park, and a little cottage, where his foster-mother lived, and
his foster-father, a terrible man, who used to get drunk and break
things; and how once, when running away from him, he fell and cut his
head. Here Brian always lifted the hair off his forehead, and, sure
enough, there was a scar quite plain to be seen.

Fanny Jenkins grew up into a good and beautiful girl, and it seemed
very natural that she and young O'Neill should love one another, and
when they married and set up for themselves nobody objected. Indeed,
so much were they beloved, that all who were able, helped them, and
those who had nothing to give, wished them well and smiled on their
courageous love, and so did them more good than they thought.

The lord of the manor built them a beautiful cottage by the sea, with
long narrow windows and turrets, almost like a castle; and the Lord of
lords blessed them and prospered them, and in due time gave them a
little son, whom they called Brian Patrick Jenkins Jones O'Neill, and
who was just the brightest, best, and most beautiful baby ever
beheld,--at least Fanny thought so, and surely mothers are the best
judges of babies.

They lived a very happy life, that humble little family. Every morning
early the young fisherman went out in his pretty boat, the "Fanny
Jenkins," for his day's toil and adventure, leaving his cheerful little
wife at her work--spinning, sewing, or caring for the child; and every
night, when he returned tired and hungry, as fishermen often are, and
found a tidy home, a smiling wife, a crowing baby and a hearty meal
awaiting him, he thought and said, that he was just the happiest
O'Neill in all the world.

In tempestuous weather Fanny suffered a great deal from anxiety for her
brave husband, who would always put out to sea, unless the storm was
very serious indeed.

At length, one lowering day in September, when he was far