et disposing of what he had to
sell, while Berinthia with Rachel called upon Miss Newville.

"It was very kind of you to send such a basket of fruit to me, a
stranger; will you please accept a little gift in return? It is not
much, but it will let you know that I appreciate your goodness," said
Rachel, placing a bundle in Miss Newville's hands. When it was opened
Ruth beheld a close-fitting hood of the softest lamb's wool, made
beautiful with pink ribbons; there was also a pair of mittens.

"Oh, Miss Walden! How good you are! How soft and nice! And they are of
your own carding, spinning, and knitting? And you have done it for me,
whom you never had seen, and of whom you never heard except through
your brother. And is he well?" Miss Newville asked.

"Quite well. You will see him to-morrow at the launching."

"Isn't it delightful that they have come in the nick of time?" said
Berinthia.

"How fortunate! And you are to have such a nice party. I will wear the
hood and be the envy of everybody," said Miss Newville, putting it on,
praising its beauty, and calling in her mother to make Rachel's
acquaintance and admire the gift.

The launching of the ship was to be at flood-tide, eleven o'clock in
the forenoon. Though in midwinter, the air was mild, as if a warm
breath had been wafted landward from the Gulf Stream. There was a
fever of excitement and preparation in the Brandon home. Dinah in the
kitchen was taking pots of baked beans and loaves of brown bread
smoking hot from the oven, filling baskets with crumpets and crullers.
Mark Antony was taking them to the shipyard. Mrs. Brandon, Berinthia,
Rachel, and Mary Shrimpton were preparing the cakes and pies. Tom and
Robert on board the ship were arranging for the collation.

Never before had Rachel beheld anything so enchanting as the scene in
the shipyard,--the ship with its tall and tapering masts, its spars
and yard-arms; the multitudes of ropes like the threads of a spider's
web; flags, streamers, red, white, green, blue, yellow, with devices
of lions, unicorns, dragons, eagles, fluttering from bowsprit to
fore-royal mast, from taffrail to mizzen. Beneath the bowsprit was the
bust of Berinthia, the heart and soul of the man who carved it in
every feature, for to Abraham Duncan there was no face on earth so
beautiful as that of the shipmaster's daughter.

The guests were assembling on the deck: the commissioner of imposts,
Theodore Newville, Mrs. Newville, and their