"Yes," said the voice; "but you needn't worry; she wasn't hurt, though she did do sich tall screamin'. That was jist fer fun and to scare you folks."
"Who are you, anyhow?" asked Don; "and why don't you show yourself?You neither act nor talk like a gentleman."
"Don't I?" asked the voice, ending with a coarse laugh.
"I wouldn't go out there if I were you, little boy; that fellow might do you some harm," said a pleasant voice that seemed to come from a far corner of the room.
Don turned to see who was the speaker, but there was no stranger to be seen, and the voice had certainly not been a familiar one.
"Why," exclaimed the little fellow, "who said that? What's the matter here to-night, that we hear so many folks that we can't see?"
As he spoke, a low whine, that sounded as if made by a young puppy, seemed to come from his pocket. With a startled jump and exclamation, "Oh, how did it get in there?" he clapped his hand upon his pocket. "Why—why, it isn't there! Where is it?" he cried, turning round and round, looking down at his feet, then farther away under chairs and tables. "I can't find it," he said presently, looking much bewildered. "Grandpa, I never saw such things happen in your house before—no, nor anywhere else. What's the matter with me? am I going blind?"
"No, my boy," said the doctor, "we all seem to be as blind as yourself—hearing people talk but not able to see them."
"None so blind as those that won't see," remarked the voice that had spoken last, but this time coming apparently from the doorway. "Here I am, and you are welcome to look at me as closely as you please."
A sudden fierce bark from their very midst seemed to answer her. It was so sudden and sharp that everyone started, and some of the children screamed.
"Nero, be quiet, sir, and walk right out here," said the voice from the hall, and it was answered by a low growl; then all was silent.
"Why, where did he go? and why couldn't we see him?" asked one of the little ones.
"Perhaps we might if we knew where to look and what to look for," saidViolet with a smiling glance at Cousin Ronald.
"But where's that little pup that was in my pocket?" cried Don, as if with sudden recollection, and glancing about the floor. "I can't see how in the world he got there, nor how he got out again."
Just as he finished his sentence the puppy's whine was heard, seeming to come from behind the large armchair in which Cousin Ronald was seated.
"There he is now!" cried Don. "I wish he'd come out of that corner and let us all see him."
"Perhaps he will if you invite him," said the old gentleman, rising and pushing his chair a little to one side.
Don made haste to look behind it. "Why, there's nothing there!" he cried. "What does go with the little scamp?"
"Perhaps he's afraid of you, Don, so gets out of sight as fast as possible," said Percy.
"Then why did he get in my pocket?" asked Don; then added quickly, "But maybe he wasn't there, for I couldn't find him, though I clapped my hand on it the instant I heard his whine." Just then the whine, followed by a little bark, seemed to come from the farther side of the room, and the children hurried over there to make a vain search for the strangely invisible puppy.
"Where did it go to?" they asked. "How could it get away so fast? and without anybody seeing it?"
"Well, it isn't here, that's certain," said one. "Let's look in the hall."
They rushed out there, then out to the porch, looking searchingly about everywhere, but finding nothing.
"Oh, it must have got away into the grounds," cried one. "Let's look there," and they ran down the path to the gate, off across and around the grounds—some in one direction, some in another. But it took only a few minutes to satisfy them that no little dog was there; and they trooped back to the house to report their inability to find it.
They were all talking at once, discussing their failure in eager, excited tones, when again that strange, gruff voice was heard in the hall.
"Say, youngsters, what have you done with my little dog? He's of fine stock, and if you don't hand him over right away—why, I'll know the reason why, and it won't be good fur ye, I can tell ye."
"We didn't take him," answered Don; "we've never seen him at all—no, not one of us; and if we had, we wouldn't have done him a bit of harm."
Just as Don pronounced the last word, a shrill little bark sounded out from behind Cousin Ronald's chair.
"Why, there he is now!" exclaimed Don, hurrying to the spot. "Why, no, he isn't! How does he get away so fast?"
"He seems to be an invisible dog, Don," said his brother Percy; "and, if I were you, I wouldn't let him trouble me any more."
"No; but I've set out to find him, and I don't mean to give it up," replied the little fellow.
"That's right, Don," laughed his father. "I'm pleased to see that you are not easily discouraged."
"But he might as well be, for there's no dog thar," said the voice from the hall. "He's a plucky little feller, but he'll not find that thar dog if he looks all night."
"I guess I'll find you then," said Don, running to the door and looking searchingly about the hall. "Well, it's the queerest thing!" he exclaimed. "There's nobody here—nobody at all!"
"Is the boy blind, that he goes right past a body and never sees him?" asked the voice; and Don turned quickly to see the speaker, who seemed close behind him. But no one was there, and Don looked really frightened. Cousin Ronald noticed it, and said in kindly tones, "Don't be scared, sonny, it was I who spoke; and I wouldn't harm you for all I am worth."
"You, sir?" said Don, looking utterly astonished. "How could it be you? for the fellow was over here, and you are over there."
"No; I only made it sound so," Mr. Lilburn said with an amused laugh; "and I must confess that I have been doing all this screaming, scolding, and barking just to make a bit of fun for you all."
At that the children crowded around the old gentleman, eagerly asking how he did it and what else he could do.
"I can hardly tell you how," he said, "but perhaps I can show some other specimens of my work." He was silent for a moment, seemingly thinking. Then a loud, rough voice said: "Hello there, youngsters, what are you bothering with that stupid old fellow for? Why don't you leave him and go off to your sports? It would be a great deal more fun."
The children turned toward the place from which the voice seemed to come, but saw no one. They were surprised at first, laughed, asking, "Was that you, Uncle Ronald?"
"Nobody else," he said with a smile.
"Oh, hark! there's music!" cried one of the little girls; and all listened in silence.
"It is a bagpipe, playing a Scotch air," said Percy, who was standing near their little group.
"What queer music!" said one of the little girls when it had ceased; "but I like it. Please, Uncle Ronald, make some more."
Several tunes followed, and then the children were told they had monopolized their Uncle Ronald long enough and must leave him to the older people for a while.
"But you'll do some more for us some other time, won't you, Uncle Ronald?" asked one of the little girls as they reluctantly withdrew from his immediate neighborhood.
"Yes, little dear, I will," he answered kindly.
And he did entertain them in the same way a number of times during his short stay in their town.
"Well, papa, where shall we go, or what shall we do, to-day?" asked Grace one bright September morning as they sat about the breakfast table on board theDolphin.
"Let me hear the wishes of all three of you in regard to that matter," he said in his accustomed pleasant tones. "Evelyn, what have you to say? Have you any plans you would like carried out?"
"No, sir, thank you," she replied. "I shall be perfectly contented to stay on theDolphinor go anywhere you and the girls wish."
"I think we have seen all the points of interest about here," he said. "However, if you would like to pay a second visit to any one of them you have only to say so."
Just as the captain spoke a sailor came in with the mail-bag.
"Ah," said Grace, "I hope there is a letter from Mamma Vi saving that she and the rest will be here to-day or to-morrow."
"Yes, so do I," said Lucilla. "We have had a lovely time while they have been away, but I shall be delighted to have them back again."
"Yes," said her father, "here is a letter from her to me." Then opening and glancing over it: "They are coming back to-day, and may be expected by the train that gets into Cleveland near tea-time. I must go for them; and you, Lucilla—you and Grace—may see that everything about the cabin and staterooms is in good order for their comfort and enjoyment."
"Yes, papa, we will," they answered promptly, Lucilla adding with a merry look, "We will do the work ourselves if that is your wish."
"Oh, no," he said; "I only meant that you should oversee it, and make sure that nothing is left undone which would add to their comfort."
"I wish we had some flowers to ornament the rooms with," said Grace.
"You shall have," replied her father. "I have sent for some by the man who has gone to the city to do the marketing."
"Oh, that's good!" exclaimed Lucilla. "Papa, I believe one may always trust you to think of everything."
"I am not so sure of that," he said with a smile. "But it is very well for my daughters to think so."
"I do, papa," said Grace. "Lu can't have any more confidence in you than I have."
"Nor than I," said Evelyn. "And I am very proud of the privilege accorded me some time ago of considering you my brother, captain."
"Ah? I think I am the one to feel honored by the relationship," he returned laughingly.
"We will start for home pretty soon, father, won't we?" asked Grace.
"I presume so; we will consult the others on that subject when they come. Are you growing homesick?"
"Almost," she answered, but in a cheery tone. "I have enjoyed our outings on the Hudson and here ever so much, but ours is such a sweet home that I begin to long to see it again."
"Well, dear child, I hope to be able to gratify that wish before long," he replied in kindly, affectionate tones. "I am very glad you love your home."
"It is certainly worthy of her love," said Evelyn. "I don't know a more delightful place; yet it would not be half so charming without the dear people who live in it."
"It certainly would not be to me without the wife and children who share it with me," said the captain.
They had not left the table long when flowers were brought aboard in variety and abundance, and they had a very enjoyable time arranging them in vases, and placing those where they could be seen to the best advantage.
"There," said Lucilla when their labors were completed; "they will do very well while theDolphinstands still, but if she takes to rolling, as I have known her to do at times in the past, we'll have to empty the water out of the vases or it will empty itself where it is not wanted at all."
"Yes," said her father, "but I think you may confidently expect her to remain stationary at least until to-morrow morning. No one is likely to care to start on the homeward journey before that time."
"I wish they were here now," said Grace; "but we have hours to wait before we can hope to see them."
"Have patience, daughter," her father said in cheerful tones. "The time will soon pass; and, to make it go faster, shall we not row over to one of the islands and have a stroll on the beach?"
The girls all seemed pleased with that proposal; the captain gave the order to have the boat made ready, and in a few moments they were on their way. It was just the kind of a day to make such a little excursion very enjoyable, and in a couple of hours they returned, feeling in fine health and spirits and ready for either work or play.
Captain Raymond saw them safely on board, presently followed them himself, and read aloud an entertaining book while they busied themselves with bits of needlework. Soon dinner was announced; quite a while was spent at the table, and shortly after they left it, the boat was again in requisition to take the captain to the city and bring him and the returned travellers back to the yacht.
The time of his absence seemed rather long to the waiting girls; but when at last the boat came into sight, and they perceived that it held all the expected ones, they were overjoyed, and when the deck was reached the embraces exchanged were warm and loving.
"This seems very like a home-coming," said Violet. "We have had a delightful time with our Pleasant Plains cousins, yet are glad to be again on our own floating home."
"Yes," said her mother; "especially as we hope it will soon carry us to our still dearer ones in the Sunny South."
"I am ready to start for them to-morrow, mother, if you wish it," the captain said in his pleasant way. "I presume you have all seen enough, for the present at least, of this part of our country."
He looked inquiringly at Annis as he spoke.
"I am ready to go or stay, as the others wish," she said. "It is now late in September, and the excessive summer heat will surely be over by the time we reach our journey's end. What are your opinions and feelings on the subject, my dear?" turning to her husband.
"I care but little one way or the other, so that I have my wife with me, and she is satisfied," returned Mr. Lilburn gallantly.
"And that, I presume, is about the way with these younger folk," remarked the captain, glancing around in a kindly way upon them.
"Yes, captain," said Evelyn; "we are all ready, I am sure, to go or stay, as seems best to you."
"One can always find enjoyment wherever you are, father," saidLucilla.
"Yes, indeed," said Grace. "But now, good folks, please all come down to the saloon and see our preparations for your arrival." She led the way, the others following, and on reaching the saloon and seeing its wealth of adornment, they gave such meed of praise as greatly gratified the young decorators.
"Ah, it is nearly tea-time," said Grandma Elsie at length, consulting her watch; "and I at least need to make some preparation in the way of ridding myself of the dust of travel by rail," and with that all the returned travellers retired to their staterooms for the few minutes that remained ere the summons to the tea table.
On leaving the table, all repaired to the deck, where they spent the evening in pleasant chat, finding much to tell each other of the doings and happenings of the days of their separation.
They closed their day as usual, with a service of prayer and praise and the reading of the Scriptures, then all except the captain retired to their staterooms.
But it was not long before Lucilla, as usual, stole back to the deck for a good-night bit of chat with her father. She found him walking the deck and gazing earnestly at the sky.
"Is there a storm coming, father?" she asked.
"I think there is," he answered, "and probably a heavy one. I think it should make a change in our plans, for it may last several days. In that case we will be safer over there in Put-in Bay, lying at anchor, than we would be out in the lake."
"Then you will go over there, won't you, father?" she asked.
"I think I shall," he said. "It really matters but little whether we get home as speedily as the voyage can be made, or not until a week or two later."
"I am glad of that," she returned; "and as we have an abundance of books and games,—plenty of everything to make the time pass quickly and pleasantly,—I think we need not mind the detention."
"I agree with you in that," he said, "and I am very glad that our dear absentees got here safely before the coming of the storm."
"Then you don't apprehend any danger?" she said inquiringly.
"No; not if we are at anchor in the bay yonder. Well, you came to say good-night to your father in the usual way, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir; but mayn't I stay with you for a little while? I am not at all sleepy, and should enjoy pacing back and forth here with you a few times."
"Very well, daughter," he returned, taking her hand and drawing it within his arm.
They walked to and fro for a time in silence. It was broken at length by Lucilla. "To-morrow is Friday, but you don't think it would be unlucky to start on a journey for that reason, father?"
"No, child; it is the coming storm, and not the day of the week, that seemed portentous to me. I have sailed more than once on Friday, and had quite as prosperous a voyage as when I had started on any other day of the week."
"It seems to me absurd and superstitious," she said, "and I know Grandma Elsie considers it so. Papa, isn't that cloud spreading and growing darker?"
"Yes; and I think I must give orders at once to get up steam, lift the anchor, and move out into the bay. Say good-night, now, and go to your berth."
Violet, arrayed in a pretty dressing gown, stepped out of her stateroom door into the saloon as Lucilla entered it. "Are we about starting, Lu?" she asked. "I thought I heard your father giving an order as if preparations for that were going on." Lucilla replied with an account of what she had seen and heard while on deck. "But don't be alarmed, Mamma Vi," she concluded; "father thinks there will be no danger to us lying at anchor in Put-in Bay, and I think we will be able to pass the time right pleasantly."
"So do I," said Violet; "but it will be sad if he has to expose himself to the storm. However, I suppose that will hardly be necessary if we are lying at anchor. Yes, I think we are a large enough and congenial enough company to be able to pass a few days very pleasantly together, even though deprived of all communication with the outside world."
"So we won't fret, but be glad and thankful that we can get into a harbor before the storm is upon us, and that we have so competent a captain to attend to all that is needed for our safety and comfort," returned Lucilla. "But I must say good-night now, for papa's order to me was to go to my berth."
TheDolphinwas soon in motion, and within an hour lying safely at anchor in Put-in Bay. When her passengers awoke in the morning, quite a severe storm was raging, and they were well pleased that it had not caught them upon the open lake; and though Grandma Elsie had grown anxious to get home for her father's sake, she did not fret or worry over a providential hindrance, but was bright and cheerful, and ever ready to take her part in entertaining the little company.
For three days the ladies and children scarcely ventured upon deck; but, with books and work and games, time passed swiftly, never hanging heavy on their hands. Mr. Lilburn, too, caused some amusement by the exercise of his ventriloquial powers.
It was the second day of the storm, early in the afternoon, and all were gathered in the saloon, the ladies busy with their needlework, the gentlemen reading, Elsie and Ned playing a quiet game. Walter had a daily paper in his hand, but presently threw it down and sat with his elbow on the table, his head on his hand, apparently in deep thought. He sighed wearily, and then words seemed to come from his lips.
"Dear me, but I am tired of this dull place!—nothing to see, nothing to hear, but the raging of the storm!"
"Why, Walter!" exclaimed his mother, looking at him in astonishment; but even as she spoke she saw that he was as much astonished as herself.
"I didn't make that remark, mother," he laughed. "I am thankful to be here, and enjoying myself right well. Ah, Cousin Ronald, I think you know who made that ill-sounding speech."
"Ah," said the old gentleman with a sad shake of the head, "there seems to be never a rude or disagreeable speech that is not laid to my account."
Then a voice seemed to come from a distant corner: "Can't you let that poor old man alone? It was I that said the words you accuse him of uttering."
"Ah," said Walter; "then show yourself, and let us see what you are like."
"I am not hiding, and don't object to being looked at, though I am not half so well worth looking at as some of the other people in this room."
"Well, that acknowledgment shows that you are not vain and conceited," said Walter.
"Who would dare call me that?" asked the voice in angry, indignant tones.
The words were quickly followed by a sharp bark, and then the angry spitting of a cat, both seeming to come from under the table.
Little Elsie, who was sitting close beside it, sprang up with a startled cry of "Oh, whose dog and cat are they?"
"Cousin Ronald's," laughed Ned, peeping under the table and seeing nothing there.
At that instant a bee seemed to fly close to the little boy's ear, then circle round his head, and he involuntarily dodged and put up his hand to drive it away. Then he laughed, saying in mirthful tones, "Oh, that was just Cousin Ronald, I know!"
The older people were looking on and laughing, but Lucilla started and sprang to her feet with an exclamation of affright as the loud, fierce bark of a seemingly ferocious big dog sounded close to her ear. Everybody laughed, she among the rest, but she said pleadingly: "Oh, don't do that again, Cousin Ronald! I didn't know I had any nerves, but I believe I have."
"Well, daughter, don't encourage them," her father said in kind and tender tones, taking her hand in his as he spoke, for she was close at his side, as she was pretty sure to be whenever she could manage it.
"I am truly sorry if I hurt those nerves, Lu," said the old gentleman kindly. "I meant but to afford amusement, and shall be more careful in the future."
"Do some more, Cousin Ronald; oh, please do some more, without scaringLu or anybody," pleaded Ned.
"Ned, Ned, it's time to go to bed," said a voice seeming to come from the door of the stateroom where the little boy usually passed the night.
"No, sir, you're mistaken," he answered; "it won't be that for two or three hours yet."
"Captain," called a voice that seemed to come from overhead, "please come up here, sir, and see if all is going well with the vessel."
Captain Raymond looked up. "I think I can trust matters to you for the present, my men," he said. "We are in a safe harbor and have little or nothing to fear."
"Papa, did somebody call you?" asked Ned.
"I rather think Cousin Ronald did," answered the captain; "but I don't intend to go to the deck to find him, or answer his call to it, while he sits here."
"No; what business has he to treat you so?" said a voice that sounded like a woman's. "He ought to be glad to see you sit down and take a rest occasionally."
"So he is," said Cousin Ronald, speaking in his natural tone and manner. "He is always glad to have such busy folks take a bit o' rest."
"But please don't you take a rest yet, Cousin Ronald; we want you to make some more fun for us first—if you're not too tired," said Ned, in coaxing tones.
"I am more than willing, laddie," returned the old gentleman pleasantly, "for fun is oft-times beneficial, particularly to little chaps such as you."
"I am bigger than I used to be," said Ned, "but I like fun quite as well as I ever did."
"Very strange," said Lucilla, "very strange that a grave old man such as you should care for fun."
"Yes, but my sister Lu likes it, and she's older—a great deal older than I am," returned the little fellow, looking up into her face with eyes that sparkled with fun.
At that she laughed and gave him a kiss.
"Yes, I am a great deal older than you, and so you ought to treat me with great respect," she said.
"Ought I, papa?" he asked, turning to their father.
"It would be quite well to do so, if you want the reputation of being a little gentleman," replied the captain, regarding his little son with a smile of amusement.
But at that instant there came a sound as of a shrill whistle overhead, followed by a shout in stentorian tones: "Hello! look out there! Ship ahoy! Do you mean to run into us? If we get foul of each other somebody may be sent to Davy Jones' locker."
Everybody started, and the captain rose to his feet, a look of anxiety coming over his face.
But Cousin Ronald gave him a roguish look.
"I wouldn't mind it, captain," he said. "It's only a false alarm. I doubt if there is any vessel near us."
The captain reseated himself, while Grace exclaimed with a sigh of relief, "Oh, I am so glad it was but a false alarm! A collision would be so dreadful, either to us or to the people on the other vessel, and maybe to both."
"Oh, it was just you, was it, Cousin Ronald?" laughed Ned. "Please do some more."
At that instant there was a loud squeak, as of a mouse that seemed to be on his own shoulder, and he started to his feet with a loud scream: "Oh, take it off, papa! Quick, quick!"
Everybody laughed; and Lucilla said teasingly, "I'm afraid you are not fit to be a soldier yet, Neddie boy."
"Maybe I will be by the time I'm tall enough," he returned rather shamefacedly.
"Yes, son, I believe you will," said his father. "I don't expect a son of mine to grow up to be a coward."
"I might have known it was Cousin Ronald, and not a real mouse, on my shoulder," remarked the little fellow with a mortified air; "but I didn't think just the first minute."
"Cousin Ronald on your shoulder?" laughed Lucilla. "I don't think he could stand there; and his weight would be quite crushing to you."
"Of course it would. He couldn't stand there at all," laughed Ned.
"No," said Mr. Lilburn, "it would be much more sensible for me to take you on my shoulder."
"Papa takes me on his sometimes," said Ned, "but not so often now as he used to when I was a little boy."
"Ha, ha, ha! what are you now, sonny?" asked a voice that seemed to come from a distance.
Ned colored up. "I'm a good deal bigger now than I was once," he said.
"And hoping to grow a good deal bigger yet," added his father, smiling down into the little flushed, excited face.
"Yes, papa, I hope to be as big as brother Max, or you, some of these days," returned the child.
"Don't be in a hurry about growing up," said the voice that had spoken a moment before.
"Grown folk have troubles and trials the little ones know nothing about."
"But the grown-ups may hope to do more in the world than the little ones," said Walter.
"Is that why you are growing up, Uncle Walter?" asked Ned.
"That's why I am glad to grow up," replied Walter.
"Like papa?"
"Yes; and like grandpa and other good men."
"Well, I want to be a man just like my own dear papa," said the little fellow, looking with loving admiration up into his father's face.
"That's right, bit laddie, follow closely in his footsteps," said the voice, that seemed to come from that distant corner.
But now came the call to the supper table, and so ended the sport for that day.
It was still raining heavily when the Sabbath morning dawned upon Lake Erie and Put-in Bay. But the faces that gathered about the breakfast table of theDolphinwere bright and cheery. Everybody was well and in good spirits.
"This is a long storm, but I think will be over by to-morrow," remarked the captain as he filled the plates.
"The time has not seemed long to me," said Annis, "for even though deprived of the pleasure of being on deck we have been by no means a dull party."
"No, not by any means, and Mr. Lilburn has made a great deal of fun for us," said Evelyn.
"And feels well repaid by the evident enjoyment of the little company," he said, glancing around upon them with a pleasant smile.
"But of course that kind of sport won't do for to-day," said Walter; "and I presume it is too stormy for anybody to go ashore to attend church." With the concluding words he turned toward the captain inquiringly.
"Quite so," was the reply. "We will have to content ourselves with such a service as can be conducted on board."
"Which will probably be quite as good and acceptable as many a one conducted on land," said Mr. Lilburn. "I have greatly enjoyed the few I have been privileged to attend on this vessel in the past."
"And I," said Grandma Elsie; "we are as near the Master here as anywhere else; and when we cannot reach a church, we can rejoice in that thought—in the remembrance that he is just as near us here as anywhere else."
"We will have a sermon, prayers, and hymns this morning, and a Bible class this afternoon, won't we, papa?" asked Grace.
"Yes," he said; "but our guests must feel entirely free to attend our services or not as they feel inclined."
"This one will feel inclined to attend," said Walter.
"This one also," added Evelyn; "she will esteem it a privilege to be allowed to do so."
"As I do," said Lucilla. "Father always makes a Bible lesson, and any kind of religious services, interesting and profitable."
"I always enjoy them," said Violet, "and I know Grace and the little folks do. Is not that so, Elsie and Ned?" Both gave a prompt assent, and Grace said: "There is no kind of service I like better. So I do not feel tempted to fret over the stormy weather."
"Ah," said the captain with a smile, "I am well content with the views and feelings expressed by my prospective audience. We will hold our services in the saloon, beginning at eleven o'clock."
Accordingly, all—including the crew—gathered there at the appointed hour, listened attentively to the reading of an excellent sermon, and united in prayer and praise.
In the afternoon they gathered there again, each with a Bible in hand, and spent an hour in the study of the Scriptures.
As in the morning service, the captain was their leader.
"Let us take the sea for our subject," he said, "and learn some of the things the Bible says of it. Cousin Ronald, what can you tell us or read us on the subject?"
"There is a great deal to be said," replied the old gentleman. "It is spoken of in the very first chapter of the Bible—'the gathering together of the waters called the seas.' In the twentieth chapter of Exodus we are told, 'In six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea and all that in them is'; and in the fifth verse of Psalm ninety-five, 'The sea is his, and he made it.' The Hebrews called all large collections of waters seas. The Mediterranean was the Great Sea of the Hebrews.
"In the Temple was a great basin which Solomon had made for the convenience of the priests; they drew water out of it for washing their hands or feet, or anything they might wish to cleanse.
"The Orientals sometimes gave the name of sea to great rivers overflowing their banks—such as the Nile, the Tigris, and the Euphrates, because by their size, and the extent of their overflowing, they seemed like small seas or great lakes. The sea is also taken for a multitude or deluge of enemies. Jeremiah tells us the sea is come up upon Babylon. But I am taking more than my turn. Let us hear from someone else."
"From you, Cousin Annis," the captain said, looking at her.
"No, I have not studied the subject sufficiently," she said, "but doubtless Cousin Elsie has."
"Let me read a verse in the last chapter of Micah," responded GrandmaElsie, and went on to do so:
"'He will turn again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities; and thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea.'
"What a gracious and precious assurance it is!" she said. "What is cast into the sea is generally supposed to be lost beyond recovery—we do not expect ever to see it again; so to be told that our sins are cast there imports that they are to be seen and heard of no more."
"Because Jesus died for us and washed them all away in his precious blood?" asked Little Elsie softly.
"Yes, dear, that is just what it means," replied her grandmother.
Evelyn's turn had come, and she read: "'And before the throne there was a sea of glass like unto crystal.' Cruden says," she continued, "that it probably signified the blood of Christ, whereby our persons and services are made acceptable to God; and that it was called a sea in allusion to the molten sea of the Temple. Also that it is represented as a sea of glass like unto crystal, to denote the spotless innocence of our Lord Jesus Christ, in his sufferings; that his was not the blood of a malefactor, but of an innocent person."
"One suffering not for his own sins, but for the sins of others," sighed Grandma Elsie. "What wondrous love and condescension; and, oh, what devoted, loving, faithful servants to him should we ever be!"
"We should, indeed," said the captain, then motioned to Lucilla that it was her turn.
"'He shall have dominion also from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth,'" she read. Then turning over the leaves, "That was in the Psalms," she said; "and here in Zachariah the prophecy is repeated in almost the same words, 'And his dominion shall be from sea even to sea, and from the river to the ends of the earth.' The dominion of Christ, is it not, father?"
"Certainly; it can be no other," he said. "Now, Grace, it is your turn."
"Mine is in the New Testament," she said—"the eighth chapter of Matthew, beginning with the twenty-third verse. 'And when he was entered into a ship, his disciples followed him. And behold there arose a great tempest in the sea, insomuch that the ship was covered with the waves: but he was asleep. And his disciples came to him and awoke him, saying, Lord save us: we perish. And he saith unto them, Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith? Then he arose and rebuked the winds and the sea; and there was a great calm. But the men marvelled, saying, What manner of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him.'"
"It is such a pretty story," said Little Elsie. "How kind Jesus was never to get angry, though they waked him out of his sleep when he must have been so very, very tired. He might have scolded them, and asked didn't they know they couldn't drown while he was with them in the ship."
"Yes," her father said; "and let us learn of him to be patient, unselfish, and forgiving."
It was Walter's turn, and he read: "'And when even was come, the ship was in the midst of the sea, and he alone on the land. And he saw them toiling in rowing; for the wind was contrary unto them; and about the fourth watch of the night he cometh unto them, walking upon the sea, and would have passed by them. But when they saw him walking upon the sea, they supposed it had been a spirit, and cried out; for they all saw him and were troubled. And immediately he talked with them, and saith unto them, Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid.'"
"This is mine," said Elsie. "'And he went forth again by the seaside: and all the multitudes resorted unto him, and he taught them.'"
It was Ned's turn, and he read: "And he began again to teach by the seaside: and there was gathered unto him a great multitude, so that he entered into a ship, and sat in the sea; and the whole multitude was by the sea on the land.'"
"I think this was a very nice lesson," Elsie said as they closed their books. "I shall think of it often while we are on the sea. This—Lake Erie—is as much of a sea as the Lake of Tiberias or Sea of Galilee, isn't it, papa?"
"I think so," he said; "and in a few days we are likely to be on a real sea—the great Atlantic Ocean."
"And God can take care of us there just as well as anywhere else, can't he, papa?" asked Ned in a tone that was half inquiry, half assertion.
"Certainly, my son, he is the creator of all things, the ruler of all the universe, and 'none can stay his hand or say unto him, What doest thou?'"
"Papa," said Ned, "mightn't I ask him to stop this storm, so we could go right on home?"
"You can ask him, son, to do it if he sees best, but you must be willing that he should not do what you wish if he does not see best. God knows what is best for us, and we do not, but often desire what would be very bad for us."
"Well, papa, I'll try to ask that way," said the little boy. "But I'm very tired of these dark, rainy days, and of staying still in one place where we don't see anything, and I hope our Heavenly Father will let us start away to-morrow."
"Neddie, dear," said his grandmother, "don't forget what a blessing it has been that we had this safe harbor close at hand when the storm was coming, so that we could run right into it. If we had been away out upon the lake our vessel might have been wrecked."
"Yes, grandma, I am glad and thankful for that," he said; "I'm afraidI was grumbling just now, but I don't intend to do so any more."
"I'll be glad when good weather comes again," remarked Elsie, "but I have really enjoyed myself right well these days that we have had to spend in the cabin; Cousin Ronald has made a great deal of fun for us."
"Yes, indeed!" exclaimed Ned earnestly, and laughing as he spoke; "it was lots of fun to hear people talking and animals barking and squealing when they weren't really here at all. Now, what are you all laughing at?" he asked in conclusion.
"At your animals," said Lucilla. "I understood that all the barking and squealing you talk about was the doing of a very nice old gentleman."
"Yes," said Ned a trifle shamefacedly; "but please don't be hurt or affronted, Cousin Ronald; I didn't know how to say it any better."
"No, sonny, and you meant it all right," the old gentleman answered pleasantly. "I am very glad to be able to furnish amusement for so good and lovable a bit of a kinsman as yourself."
"Thank you, sir. I like that word—kinsman," said the little boy, regarding Mr. Lilburn with sparkling eyes. "It means a relation, doesn't it?"
"Yes, just that, laddie. Your grandmother and mother are of my kin, and that makes you so too. I hope you are not ill-pleased to own so auld a cousin?"
"No, indeed, sir," said Neddie earnestly; "and I'll try to behave so well that you won't ever feel ashamed to own me for your kin."
"It will be a great surprise to me if ever I do feel my relationship to you and yours a disgrace, laddie," the old gentleman said with a smile. Then, turning to Violet, "Could not you give us a bit o' sacred music, cousin?" he asked. "It strikes me 'twould be a fitting winding-up of our services."
"So I think," said the captain; and Violet at once took her place at the instrument.
"Mamma," said Grace, "let us have 'Master, the Tempest is Raging.' We can all sing it, and it is so sweet."
"Yes," said Violet.
The others gathered around her, and together they sang:
"'Master, the tempest is raging!The billows are tossing high!The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness!No shelter or help is nigh!Carest thou not that we perish?How canst thou lie asleep,When each moment so madly is threateningA grave in the angry deep?
Chorus:"'The winds and the waves shall obey thy will,Peace, be still!Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea.Or demons, or man, or whatever it be,No waters can swallow the ship where liesThe Master of ocean, and earth, and skies;They all so sweetly obey thy will,Peace, be still! Peace, be still!They all so sweetly obey thy will,Peace, peace, be still!
"'Master, with anguish of spiritI bow in my grief to-day;The depths of my sad heart are troubled;Oh, waken and save, I pray!Torrents of sin and of anguishSweep o'er my sinking soul;And I perish! I perish, dear Master,Oh, hasten and take control!
Chorus:"'The winds and the waves shall obey thy will, etc.
"'Master, the terror is over,The elements sweetly rest;Earth's sun in the calm lake is mirrored,And heaven's within my breast;Linger, O blessed Redeemer!Leave me alone no more;And with joy I shall make the blest harbor,And rest on the blissful shore.
Chorus:"'The winds and the waves shall obey thy will,'" etc.
TheDolphin'spassengers retired early to their staterooms on that stormy Sunday night; that is, all of them except the captain and Lucilia. He was on the deck, and she sat in the saloon, reading and waiting for a little chat with her father before seeking her berth for the night. Presently she heard his approaching footsteps, and, closing her book, looked up at him with a glad smile.
"Ah, daughter, so you are here waiting for me as usual," he said in his kind, fatherly tones; and, taking a large easy-chair close at hand, he drew her to a seat upon his knee. "You haven't sat here for quite a while," he said, passing his arm about her and pressing his lips to her cheek.
"No, sir; and I am very glad to be allowed to do it again, big and old as I am," she returned, with a smile that was full of love and pleasure. "Oh, I am so glad—so glad every day that God gave me to you instead of to somebody else. I thank him for it very often."
"As I do," he said; "for I consider my dear eldest daughter one ofGod's good gifts to me."
"Whenever I hear you say that, father, I feel ashamed of all my faults and follies and want—oh, so much—to grow wiser and better."
"I too need to grow better and wiser," he said; "and we must both ask daily and hourly to be washed from our sins in the precious blood of Christ—that fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness.
"'There is a fountain filled with blood,Drawn from Immanuel's veins;And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,Lose all their guilty stains.'"
"Papa, I love that hymn, and am thankful to Cowper for writing it," she said.
"And so am I," he returned. "Oh, what gratitude we owe for the opening of that fountain! for the love of Christ that led him to die that painful and shameful death of the cross—that we might live. 'The love of Christ which passeth knowledge.'"
They were silent for a little; then he said, "It is growing late, daughter; it is quite time time that this one of my birdlings was in her nest. Give me my good-night kiss and go."
"Can I go to you on the deck in the morning, papa?" she asked as she prepared to obey.
"That depends upon the weather," he answered. "If it is neither raining nor blowing hard, you may; otherwise, you may not."
"Yes, sir; I'll be careful to obey," she said: with a loving smile up into his face.
All seemed quiet within and without when she awoke in the morning, and dressing speedily she stole out through the cabin, and up the stairway, till she could look out upon the deck. Her father was there, caught sight of her at once, and drew quickly near.
"Good-morning, daughter," he said; "you may come out here, for it is not raining just now, and the wind has fallen."
"Is the storm over, father, do you think?" she asked, hastening to his side.
"The worst of it certainly is, and I think it will probably clear before night."
"So that we can start on our homeward journey?"
"Yes," he answered; "but it will not be well to leave this safe harbor until we are quite certain of at least tolerably good weather."
"No, none of us would want to run any risk of shipwreck," she said; "and there isn't really anything to hurry us greatly about getting back to our homes."
"Nothing except the desire to see them and our dear ones there," he said; "and to delay that will be wiser than running any risk to bring it about sooner."
As he spoke he drew her hand within his arm, and they paced the deck to and fro for some time; then it began to rain again, and he bade her go below.
"Still raining, I believe," remarked Mr. Lilburn as they sat at the breakfast table.
"Yes," replied the captain; "but I think it will probably clear by noon."
"And then we will start on our return journey, I suppose?" saidWalter.
"Yes," said the captain, "that seems best, and I believe is according to the desire of all my passengers. It is your wish, mother, is it not?" turning to Grandma Elsie.
"I should like to get home soon now," she replied; "but shall not fret if we are still providentially detained."
The rain had ceased by the time they left the table, so that they were able to go on deck, take some exercise, and get a view of their surroundings.
By noon the indications were such that the captain considered it entirely safe to continue their journey. So steam was gotten up, and they were presently out of the harbor and making their way across the lake in the direction of the Welland Canal. Before sunset all the clouds had cleared away; the evening was beautiful, and so were the days that followed while they passed down the St. Lawrence River and out through the Gulf, then along the Atlantic coast, stopping only once, to let Walter leave them for Princeton.
It was quite a long voyage, and a very pleasant one; but everyone was glad when at length they reached the harbor of the city near their homes. They were expected, and found friends and carriages awaiting their coming.
Mr. Hugh Lilburn had come for his father and Annis, Edward Travilla for his mother and Evelyn, and the Woodburn carriage was there to take the captain and his family to their home.
"It is delightful to have you at home again, mother," Edward said as they drove off; "we have all been looking forward to your coming—from grandpa down to the babies that can hardly lisp your name."
"It is most pleasant to be so loved," she said with a joyful smile, "especially by those who are so dear as my father, children, and grandchildren are to me. Are all well at Fairview?"
"Yes, and looking forward, not to your return only, but to Evelyn's also. Lester was very busy, so asked me to bring her home to them; which I was very ready to do."
"And for which I feel very much obliged," said Evelyn. "I shall be very glad to get home, though I have had a delightful time while away."
They soon reached Fairview, and her welcome there was all she coulddesire. Grandma Elsie was warmly welcomed too, but did not alight.She felt in much too great haste to see her father and the others atIon.
On her arrival she found her daughter Rosie there also, and her presence added to the joy of the occasion.
Dinner was ready to be served, and Harold and Herbert had just come in from their professional rounds, so that the family reunion was almost complete. They missed Walter, but were glad to think of him as well, happy, and busied with his studies; and Elsie and Violet, though not just there, were near enough to be seen and conversed with almost any day. So it was altogether a cheerful and happy reunion, as was that of the family at Fairview.
Woodburn held no welcoming relatives for the Raymonds, but theirs was a glad home-coming, nevertheless. The grounds were in beautiful order, as was the dwelling under Christine's skilful management; and the dinner that awaited the returned travellers was abundant in quantity and variety, and the cooking such as might have found favor with an epicure.
"I think we are most fortunate people," said Violet as they sat at the table. "I know it isn't every family that can come home after weeks of absence to find everything in beautiful order and the table furnished with luxuries as is this one."
"Very true, my dear," said the captain; "we certainly have a great deal to be thankful for."
"Yes, papa, it is very pleasant to be at home again," said Elsie; "and when dinner is over mayn't we go all around and look at every one of the rooms, upstairs and down?"
"If you want to make the circuit of the house, I have no objection," he said.
"Yes, I do, papa," she answered. "I feel very much as if the rooms are old friends that I'm quite fond of."
"The schoolroom as well as the rest?" he asked with a look of amusement.
"Yes, indeed, papa, for you make lessons so pleasant that I'd be very, very sorry to be shut out of that room. Wouldn't you, Neddie?"
"Course I would," exclaimed Ned. "I love to be with papa, and I like the nice lessons. Papa often tells us a great deal that is very interesting."
"I am glad you think so," said his father. "We will visit the schoolroom, as well as the others, after we have finished our dinners."
"Will we have school to-morrow, papa?" asked Elsie.
"No; you may have the rest of the week for play, and we will begin lessons on Monday if nothing happens to prevent."
"We will take up our studies again, papa, just as the little ones do, will we not?" asked Lucilla.
"Meaning Grace and yourself, I suppose?" he said inquiringly, and with a look of amusement.
"Yes, sir; except Evelyn, we are your only other pupils just now."
"You can both begin when the younger ones do, if you like," he replied; and Grace said, "You may be quite sure we will like to do so, papa."
"Papa, when will Brother Max come home?" asked Ned.
"I think we may expect him about the last of next January," was the reply.
"And how soon does January come, papa?"
"This is October: November comes next, then December, and next after that is January."
"Oh, such a long while!" sighed Ned. "I want to see Max so badly thatI don't know how to wait."
"Pretty much the way papa feels about it," returned his father.
"And as we all do," said Violet. "I wish the dear fellow had chosen work that could be done at home."
"But somebody must go into the navy, my dear," said his father. "A good navy is very necessary for the safety of the country."
"That is true," she returned; "and I know of no more honorable employment."
"And employment of some kind we all should have. I know of nothing more ignoble than a life of idleness. It is sure to tempt to something worse. 'Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.'"
"Yes," said Violet, "and the Bible bids us to be 'diligent in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord.'"
"And in the fourth commandment we are bidden, 'Six days shalt thou labor and do all thy work.' It makes no exception; recognizes no privileged class who may take their ease in idleness."
"Yet there are times when one is really weary, that rest is right, are there not?" said Violet. "I remember that at one time Jesus said to his disciples, 'Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while.'"
"Yes; there are times when rest is very necessary, and by taking it one is enabled to do more in the end."
"And we have just had a nice long rest," said Grace; "so ought to be able to go to work earnestly and make good progress in our studies."
"So I think," said Lucilla; then added laughingly, "and I'm glad father doesn't turn me out of the schoolroom because I've grown so big and old."
"You are still small enough, and young enough, to demean yourself as one under authority," remarked the captain in pleasant tones; "otherwise you would not be admitted to the schoolroom among my younger pupils."
Just then a rather discordant voice was heard calling, "Lu, Lu, what you 'bout? Polly wants a cracker."
"You shall have one presently, Polly," Lucilia answered.
"Oh, let's all go up there and see her," said Ned as they rose and left the table.
"Yes, we may as well begin there to make our circuit of the house," said his father; and they all hastened up the stairway to the apartments of Lucilla and Grace.
"I think Polly is glad to see us," said Elsie, as they stood for a moment watching her while she ate.
"A good deal more pleased to see and taste the cracker," said her father. "I doubt if parrots ever have much affection to bestow on anyone."
"Well, Polly," said Lulu, "nobody cares particularly for your affection; but in spite of your coldness and indifference, you shall have plenty to eat."
"Your rooms are in good order, daughters," said the captain, glancing about them. "I think Christine is an excellent housekeeper."
"So do I, father," said Lucilla. "We have only to unpack our trunks and put their contents in their proper places, and all will be as neat and orderly as before we left home."
"Yes, but we are going to visit the other parts of the house first," said Grace; "or we'll have to do it alone, which wouldn't be half so much fun as going along with papa and the rest."
They finished their inspection quickly, then set to work at their unpacking and arranging, laughing and chatting merrily as they worked.
Violet, in her rooms, with Elsie and Ned to help or hinder, was busied in much the same manner. The captain was in the library examining letters and periodicals which had accumulated during his absence, when he was interrupted by the announcement that Mr. Dinsmore had called to see him.
"Mr. Dinsmore?" he said inquiringly.
"Yes, sah; Mr. Chester. Here am his kyard."
"Ah, yes; just show him in here."
The two greeted each other cordially, and Chester was invited to take a seat, which he did.
"I am making you an early call, captain," he said. "I knew you were expected to-day, and heard, perhaps an hour ago, that you had actually arrived. I have, as you requested, kept a lookout for that escaped convict who threatened your daughter at the time of his trial. He has not yet been caught, but as I cannot learn that he has been seen anywhere in this neighborhood, I hope he has given up the idea of wreaking vengeance upon her."
"I hope so, indeed," returned her father; "but I shall be very careful never to let her go from home unattended."
"I am glad to hear you say that, sir," said Chester; "and I shall be very happy if I may sometimes be permitted to act as her escort. You may not always find it entirely convenient to undertake the duty yourself."
"Thank you for your offer; I may sometimes be glad to avail myself of it," was the reply.
They chatted a while longer, then Chester rose as if to take his leave.
"Don't go yet," said the captain. "My wife and daughters will join us presently, and feel glad to see you. Stay and take tea with us, and give us all the news about the family at The Oaks."
"Thank you," returned Chester, sitting down again. "We are all quite well, Syd busy with her preparations for going South to join Maud and Dick."
"Ah! she leaves soon?"
"I think before very long; but the exact time is not set yet."
"You will feel lonely—robbed of both your sisters."
"Yes, sir," Chester returned with a slight smile. "I should greatly prize a sweet young wife, who would much more than fill their places."
"Ah, yes; but this is one of the cases where it is best to make haste slowly, my young friend," the captain returned in a pleasant tone.
"I am feeling a little uneasy lest Percy Landreth or someone else may have got ahead of me," Chester said inquiringly, and with an anxious look.
"No; her father wouldn't allow any such attempt, and it is quite sure that his daughter is still heart-whole. And as I have told you before, if either suit is to prosper, I should rather it should be yours—as in that case she would not be taken far away from me."
"That is some consolation, and she is well worth waiting for," saidChester in a tone of resignation.
"So her father thinks," said the captain.
Just then there was a sound of wheels on the drive.
"The Roselands carriage," said Chester, glancing from the window; and both he and the captain rose and hurried out.
They found the whole Roselands family there—Calhoun and his wife and children; Dr. Arthur, his Marian, and their little Ronald.
Violet and her children, with Lucilla and Grace, had hastened down to receive them, and warm greetings were exchanged all around.
Chester took particular pains to get possession of a seat near Lucilla, and had many questions to ask in regard to the manner in which she had spent the long weeks of her absence from home—for long, he averred, they had seemed to him.
"Well now, they didn't to me," laughed Lucilla; "on the contrary, I thought them very short; time fairly flew."
"And was so filled with interesting occurrences that you hardly thought of your absent friends?"
"Oh, yes; I did think of them, occasionally even of you, Chester," she said in sportive tone. "Really, I do wish you could have seen and enjoyed all that we did. Were you moping at home all the time?"
"Not all the time; much of it found me very busy; and for a fortnightI was away on a boating excursion with some friends."
"I am glad of that, for I am sure you needed some rest. Sometimes I think you are too hard a worker. Don't forget the old saying that 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.'"
But there the talk was interrupted by another arrival—the carriage from The Oaks, bringing all that family, including Chester's sister Sydney. They were on their way to Ion to welcome Grandma Elsie home, so made but a short call.
The Roselands people were urged to stay to tea, but declined, and presently took their leave. But they had scarcely gone, when Violet's brothers Harold and Herbert came, and they stayed to tea. They were bright and genial as usual; Chester, too, was gay and lively; and so altogether they constituted a blithe and merry party.
The evening brought the families from Ashlands, Pinegrove, and The Laurels, and the next day those from Fairview, Beechwood, and Riverside. Rosie expressed herself as charmed with her new home, and insisted upon having them all there to tea with her mother and old Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore. The other relatives she had already entertained, she said; and she was planning to have all at once at no very distant day.
"Surely we can wait for that, Rosie," said the captain, "and content ourselves with a call upon you and a sight of your pretty home, leaving the greater visit to the time you speak of."
"No, Brother Levis, I won't be satisfied with that," she said. "I want you all to take tea with us to-morrow evening."
"Are you not willing that we should, father?" asked Lucilla.
"Yes, if you wish to do so," he replied; and as all expressed themselves desirous to accept the invitation, they did so; and they were so well and hospitably entertained that everyone was delighted. They returned home rather early in the evening, on account of the little ones. Violet took them upstairs at once, and Grace went to her room, so that Lucilla and her father were left alone together, as so often happened early in the evening. She followed him into the library, asking, "Haven't you some letters to be answered, father? and shall I not write them for you on the typewriter?"
"I fear you are too tired, daughter, and had better be getting ready for bed," he answered, giving her a searching but affectionate look.
"Oh, no, sir," she said; "I am neither tired nor sleepy; and if I can be of any use to my dear, kind father, nothing would please me better."
He smiled at that, lifted the cover from the machine, and they worked busily together for the next half-hour or more. When they had finished, "Thank you, daughter," he said; "you are such a help and comfort to me that I hardly know what I should ever do without you."
"Oh, you are so kind to say that, you dear father," she returned, her eyes shining with joy and filial love. "I often say to myself, 'How could I ever live without my dear father?' and then I ask God to let you live as long as I do. And I hope he will."
"He will do what is best for us, daughter," returned the captain in moved tones; "and if we must part in this world, we may hope to meet in that better land where death and partings are unknown."
"Yes, papa, the thought of that must be the greatest comfort when death robs us of our dear ones."
He took her hand, led her to a sofa, and, seating her by his side, put his arm about her, drawing her close to him. "I have something to say to you, daughter," he said in low, tender tones.
She gave him a rather startled, inquiring look, asking, "About what, papa?"
"You remember the bit of news—in regard to the escape of a convict—which hastened our departure for the North some months ago?"