—repeating it with his eyes on the fire, as he
softly danced the child on his knee. For, he felt
that Margaret had stopped working.

"Yes," said the captain, still looking at the
fire. "I make up stories and tell 'em to that
child. Stories of shipwreck on desert islands
and long delay in getting back to civilised lands.
It is to stories the like of that, mostly, that
                      Silas Jorgan
                      Plays the organ."

There was no light in the room but the light
of the fire; for, the shades of night were on the
village, and the stars had begun to peep out
of the sky one by one, as the houses of the
village peeped out from among the foliage when
the night departed. The captain felt that
Margaret's eyes were upon him, and thought it
discreetest to keep his own eyes on the fire.

"Yes; I make 'em up," said the captain. "I
make up stories of brothers brought together by
the good providence of GOD. Of sons brought
back to mothers—husbands brought back to
wives—fathers raised from the deep, for little
children like herself."

Margaret's touch was on his arm, and he could
not choose but look round now. Next moment
her hand moved imploringly to his breast, and she
was on her knees before him: supporting the
mother, who was also kneeling.

"What's the matter?" said the captain.
"What's the matter?
                     Silas Jorgan
                     Played the——"

Their looks and tears were too much for him,
and he could not finish the song, short as it was.

"Mistress Margaret, you have borne ill fortune
well. Could you bear good fortune equally
well, if it was to come?"

"I hope so. I thankfully and humbly and
earnestly hope so!"

"Wa'al, my dear," said the captain, "p'raps
it has come. He's—don't be frightened—shall
I say the word?"

"Alive?"

"Yes!"

The thanks they fervently addressed to Heaven
were again too much for the captain, who openly
took out his handkerchief and dried his eyes.

"He's no further off," resumed the captain,
"than my country. Indeed, he's no further
off than his own native country. To tell
you the truth, he's no further off than
Falmouth. Indeed, I doubt if he's quite so fur.
Indeed, if you was sure you could bear it
nicely, and I was to do no more than whistle
for him——"

The captain's trust was discharged. A rush
came, and they were all together again.

This was a fine opportunity for Tom Pettifer
to appear with a tumbler of cold water, and he
presently appeared with it, and administered it
to the ladies: at the same time soothing them,
and composing their dresses, exactly as if they
had been passengers crossing the Channel. The
extent to which the captain slapped his legs,
when Mr. Pettifer acquitted himself of this act
of stewardship, could have been thoroughly
appreciated by no one but himself: inasmuch as
he must have slapped them black and blue, and
they must have smarted tremendously.

He couldn't stay for the wedding; having a
few appointments to keep, at the irreconcilable
distance of about four thousand miles. So, next
morning, all the village cheered him up to the
level ground above, and there he shook hands
with a complete Census of its population, and
invited the whole, without exception, to come
and stay several months with him at Salem,
Mass., U.S. And there, as he stood on the
spot where he had seen that little golden
picture of love and parting, and from which
he could that morning contemplate another
golden picture with a vista of golden years in
it, little Kitty put her arms around his neck,
and kissed him on both his bronzed cheeks,
and laid her pretty face upon his storm-beaten
breast, in sight of all: ashamed to have called
such a noble captain names. And there, the
captain waved his hat over his head three final
times; and there, he was last seen, going away
accompanied by Tom Pettifer Ho, and carrying
his hands in his pockets. And there, before that
ground was softened with the fallen leaves of
three more summers, a rosy little boy took his
first unsteady run to a fair young mother's
breast, and the name of that infant fisherman,
was Jorgan Raybrock.

THE END.

THE NEW SERIAL STORY,
GREAT EXPECTATIONS,
BY CHARLES DICKENS,
IS CONTINUED FROM WEEK TO WEEK
UNTIL COMPLETED IN AUGUST,
IN ALL THE YEAR ROUND.