o reprove him for what he
had done. Trafford gazed in his nephew's face for a short space, and
then, smothering what his heart longed to cry out, and what he had
intended to say to the boy, he sighed only, "We will start homeward,
if you are ready."

Noll was sure that his uncle had kept back something which it was in
his heart to say, and, wondering what it could be, he followed after
the tall figure along the homeward path.

The sun was getting well down into the west. The fair clearness of the
sky was broken by a soft, mellow haze which began to steal across it,
yet the afternoon was no less beautiful, and along the horizon there
were long and lovely trails of misty color,--faint, delicate flushes
of amber and purple,--which gave an added charm to the day's
declining.

Not a word did uncle and nephew speak till, as they rounded the curve
of the shore, and the stone house came in sight, Trafford asked,
abruptly, "Noll, where did your pocket-money go?"

The boy explained the whole matter, with an account of Ned Thorn's
bounty and help, at the last, and then they paced along the sand in
silence, as before. Noll managed to get many looks at his uncle's
face, and seeing that it wore no stern nor forbidding aspect, ventured
to ask,--

"Are you offended with me, or what, Uncle Richard?"

Trafford took his nephew's hand as he replied, "Not in the least,
Noll."

His voice was strangely kind and tender, and Noll exclaimed, looking
up joyfully and brightly, "I'm very glad, Uncle Richard! and do you
know your voice sounded like papa's just now?"

They walked hand in hand along the shore,--Noll, at least, very
happy,--and looking afar at the sea through glad and hopeful eyes. He
mentally prayed that Uncle Richard's gloom and sternness might never
return, and that he might always be in his present softened and
subdued mood. They came to the stone house at last, and, as they
reached the steps, Noll took one long look at his uncle's face,
thinking to himself that not soon again should he see it so gentle and
tender, for the gloom of the library would soon shadow it, and make it
once more stern and forbidding. But, just as if he felt something of
this himself, Trafford lingered on the steps, as if loath to go in,
and at last sat down. Noll inwardly rejoiced, and seated himself on
the bit of green which he had caused to grow, by much watering and
nourishing, close beside the piazza. That little breadth of gr