of his age and tastes? He could not see.

Those were the last letters which Noll received. The "Gull" made one
or two trips after that, but the first of November brought keen,
sleety weather, and Skipper Ben came no more; so that for the long
months ahead Culm Rock was to be shut out from the world entirely. The
thought of being isolated from all assistance, in case of illness or
trouble, oppressed Noll somewhat till he had accustomed himself to the
thought, and then a vague dread of loneliness and homesickness in the
dragging days of winter haunted him for a time. But getting bravely
over these, and interested in his studies, he began to find that the
November days were not so intolerable, after all.

Uncle Richard had surprised him one day by bringing in a
writing-table, from one of the unoccupied rooms, and placing it
opposite his own chair by one of the tall windows. "For your books,
Noll," he had said; and from thenceforth the boy's well-worn school
volumes had a place there, and study in the cold chamber was exchanged
for the comfortable warmth of the library. It was not an unpleasant
schoolroom, by any means, though the high, old window framed nothing
but a great stretch of sea and sky,--both, this chilly month of
November, often gray and misty.

Instead of the roar and din of the city which sounded about the
dearly-remembered room at Hastings, there was the hoarse murmur of the
tide on its rocks and pebbles, the wild whirling of the wind and its
screaming around the corners and over the chimney,--not cheery sounds,
any of them; yet, in the still afternoons, and the cozy quietness of
long evenings when the lamp shed its mild light over the room, and the
fire on the hearth shone redly, there was such calm and peace for
books and study as Noll found both pleasant and profitable.

In these days, you may be sure, the boy's thoughts were often across
the vast gray sea in front of his window, even when he was bending
over his problems or translations; not that he regretted his decision
to share Uncle Richard's life with him, nor that he had any thoughts
of fleeing away, but those flitting sails on the far horizon were
messengers which alway bore on their white wings thoughts of hope and
love and patience to those over the sea.

It was not the natural sphere of a boy,--this monotonous, unvarying
round of days, with no companions of his age or tastes; and, as week
after week passed, and Noll was still bli