ook on his face which
a guilty schoolboy wears when the eye of his master is upon him.

In his hand he held a letter, at which he glanced furtively, as if he
feared to be caught in the act of reading, although the only eyes that
possibly could have detected him were those of two sparrows that were
discussing the purple berries of the Portuguese laurel which grew near
by.

"'I enclose the usual half-yearly allowance of L250.'" The Pilot was
reading from the letter. "Damnation take him and his allowance!"
ejaculated the irascible old sailor, which was a strange anathema
to hurl at the giver of so substantial a sum of money. "I suppose
he thinks to make me beholden to him: I suppose he thinks me as poor
as a church-rat, and, therefore, I'm to be thankful for mercies
received--_his_ mercies--and say what a benefactor he is, what a
generous brother. Bah! it makes me sicker than ever to think of him."
He glanced at the letter, and read, "'Hoping that this small sum is
sufficient for yourself and my very dear niece, to whom I ask to be
most kindly remembered, I remain your affectionate brother, Silas
Summerhayes.'" A most brotherly epistle, containing filial expressions,
and indicating a bountiful spirit; and yet upon reading it the Pilot
swore deep and dreadful oaths which cannot be recorded.

Every six months, for at least fifteen years, he had received a similar
letter, expressing in the same affectionate terms the love of his
brother Silas, which was accentuated by a like draft for L250, and yet
the Pilot had persistently cursed the receipt of each letter.

There was a footstep on the verandah behind him. With a start the old
man thrust the epistle and draft into his pocket, and stood, with a look
on his face as black as thunder, confronting almost defiantly his
charming daughter.

"Have you got your letters, father? I heard the postman's knock." As she
spoke, Rose looked rather anxiously at her frowning parent. "Good news,
I hope--the English mail arrived last night."

"I daresay it did, my gal," growled the Pilot. "But I don't see what you
and me have to do with England, seeing we've quit it these fifteen
years."

"But we were born there! Surely people should think affectionately of
their native country."

"But we won't die there, please God--at least, _I_ won't, if I can help
it. You'll not need to, I hope. We're colonials: _this_ is our country."

The girl turned to go indoors, but, a sudden impulse seizing