e him; but that warn't yesterday, and it warn't the day
before. Where he's betaken himself between whiles, ain't known to me.
Shall I make a note, miss, against he comes?"

"No," said Dolly, turning away; "no need. And no use."

She rejoined Mrs. Jersey and they went back to the carriage.

"He is not there," she said excitedly; "and he has not been there for
several days. We must go to his lodgings--all the way back almost!"

"Never mind," said the housekeeper. "We have the day before us."

"It is almost twelve," said Dolly, looking at her watch. "Before we get
there it will be one. I am a great deal of trouble to you, I fear, Mrs.
Jersey; more than I meant to be."

"My dear, it's no trouble. I am happy to be of any use to you. What
sort of a chain is that you wear, Miss Dolly?"

"Curious, isn't it?" said Dolly. "It was given me long ago. It is woven
of threads of a ship cable."

"It is a beautiful chain," said her friend, examining it admiringly.
"But that is very clever, Miss Dolly! I should never fancy it was a
piece of cable. Is there an anchor anywhere?"

"No," said Dolly, laughing. "Though I am not sure," she added
thoughtfully. "My memory goes back along this chain a great way;--back
to the time when I was a little girl, quite little, and very happy at
school and with a dear aunt, whom I lived with then. And back there at
the end of the chain are all those pleasant images; and one most
beautiful day, when we went to visit a ship; a great man-of-war. A most
beautiful day!" Dolly repeated with the accent of loving recollection.

"And you brought back a piece of cable from the ship, and braided this?"

"No. Oh no! I did not do it; I could not. It was done for me."

"By a friend's fingers?"

"Yes, I suppose you may say so," said Dolly; "though it is a friend I
have never seen since then. I suppose I never shall. But I always wear
the chain. Oh, how long that seems ago!--Is childhood the happiest time
of a person's life, Mrs. Jersey?"

"Maybe I might say yes. Miss Dolly; but if I did, I should mean not
what you mean. I should mean the little-child life that one can have
when one is old. When the heart says, 'Not my will, but Thine'--when it
says, 'Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth.' You know, the Master
said, 'Except ye become as little children, ye shall not enter into the
kingdom of heaven.'"

"I don't believe I am just as much of a child, then, as I used to be,"
remarked Dolly.

"Get back to