The Project Gutenberg eBook, Elsie Yachting with the Raymonds, by Martha Finley

ELSIE YACHTING WITH THE RAYMONDS

A LIST OF THE ELSIE BOOKS.

Arranged in the order of their publication.

ELSIE DINSMORE.
ELSIE'S HOLIDAYS AT ROSELANDS.
ELSIE'S GIRLHOOD.
ELSIE'S WOMANHOOD.
ELSIE'S MOTHERHOOD.
ELSIE'S CHILDREN.
ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD.
GRANDMOTHER ELSIE.
ELSIE'S NEW RELATIONS.
ELSIE AT NANTUCKET.
THE TWO ELSIES.
ELSIE'S KITH AND KIN.
ELSIE'S FRIENDS AT WOODBURN.
CHRISTMAS WITH GRANDMA ELSIE.
ELSIE AND THE RAYMONDS.
ELSIE YACHTING WITH THE RAYMONDS.
ELSIE'S VACATION.
ELSIE AT VIAMEDE.
ELSIE AT ION.

ELSIE YACHTING

WITH THE RAYMONDS

BY

MARTHA FINLEY

AUTHOR OF

"ELSIE DINSMORE," "ELSIE'S WOMANHOOD," "ELSIE'S KITH AND
KIN," "ELSIE AND THE RAYMONDS," "THE MILDRED
BOOKS," "WANTED—A PEDIGREE," ETC.

NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD, AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1890
By Dodd, Mead, and Co.
All rights reserved.

PREFATORY NOTE.

The Author, having received many letters from young and interested readers, has decided to acknowledge them in this way, because feeble health and much work for the publishers make it impossible to write a separate reply to each gratifying epistle.

She also desires to freely acknowledge indebtedness for much information regarding Revolutionary times and incidents, to Bancroft and Lossing; and for the routine at West Point, to an article in Harper's Magazine for July, 1887, entitled "Cadet Life at West Point," by Charles King, U. S. A.

M. F.

CHAPTER I.

The train, which for some hours had been running very fast and too noisily to admit of much conversation, suddenly slackened its speed, and Lulu turned upon her father a bright, eager look, as though some request were trembling on her tongue.

"Well, daughter, what is it?" he asked, with an indulgent smile, before she had time to utter a word.

"Oh, Papa!" she began in a quick, excited way, and quite as if she expected her request would be granted, "I know we're going through New York State, and I've just been thinking how much I would like to see Saratoga,—especially the battle-field where the Americans gained that splendid victory over the British in the Revolutionary War."

"Ah! and would Max like it, too?" the Captain asked, with a smiling glance at his son, who, sitting directly in front of them, had turned to listen to their talk just as Lulu began her reply to their father's query.

"Yes, sir; yes, indeed!" Max answered eagerly, his face growing very bright. "And you, Papa, would you enjoy it, too?"

"I think I would," said the Captain, "though it would not be for the first time; but showing the places of interest to two such ardent young patriots will more than compensate for that.—And there have been changes since I was there last," he continued, musingly. "Mount McGregor, for instance, has become a spot of historic interest. We will visit it."

"Oh, yes! where dear General Grant died," said Lulu. "I would like to go there."

"So you shall," returned her father. "This is Friday; we shall reach Saratoga Saturday night, should no accident detain us, spend Sunday there resting, according to the commandment, then Monday and Tuesday in sight-seeing."

"How nice, Papa," Lulu said with satisfaction. "I only wish Mamma Vi and Gracie could be there with us."

"It would double our pleasure," he replied. "I think we must go again some time, when we can have them along."

"Oh, I am glad to hear you say that, Papa! for I am quite sure I shall enjoy going twice to so interesting a place," said Lulu.

"I, too," said Max. "I don't know of anything that would please me better."

"I am glad to hear it, and hope there will be no disappointment to either of you," their father said.

But the train was speeding on again, too fast and too noisily for comfortable conversation, and they relapsed into silence, the Captain returning to his newspaper, Max to a book which he seemed to find very interesting, while his sister amused herself with her own thoughts.

Lulu was feeling very happy; she had been having so pleasant a summer out in the West with Papa and Maxie, and was enjoying the homeward journey,—or rather the trip to the sea-shore, where the rest of the family were, and where they all expected to remain till the end of the season,—the prospect of seeing Saratoga and its historical surroundings, and other places of interest,—a view of which could be had from the boat as they passed down the Hudson; for she and Max had both expressed a preference for that mode of travel, and their father had kindly consented to let them have their wish. She thought herself a very fortunate little girl, and wished with all her heart that Gracie could be there with them and share in all their pleasures.

Dear Gracie! they had never been separated for so long a time before, and Lulu was in such haste for the meeting now that she could almost be willing to resign the pleasure of a visit to Saratoga that they might be together the sooner. But no, oh, no, it would never do to miss a visit there! It would defer their meeting only a day or two, and she should have all the more to tell; not to Gracie only, but to Evelyn Leland and Rosie Travilla. Ah, how enjoyable that would be! Oh, how full of pleasure life was now that Papa was with them all the time, and they had such a sweet home of their very own!

With that thought she turned toward him, giving him a look of ardent affection.

He was still reading, but glanced from his paper to her just in time to catch her loving look.

"My darling!" he said, bending down to speak close to her ear, and accompanying the words with a smile full of fatherly affection. "I fear you must be growing very weary with this long journey," he added, putting an arm about her and drawing her closer to him.

"Oh, no, not so very, Papa!" she answered brightly; "but I'll be ever so glad when we get to Saratoga. Don't you think it will be quite a rest to be out of the cars for a day or two?"

"Yes; and I trust you will find them less wearisome after your three days at Saratoga."

"What time shall we reach there, Papa?" asked Max.

"Not long before your bed-time, I understand," replied the Captain.

"Then we cannot see anything before Monday?"

"You will see something of the town in walking to church day after to-morrow."

"And we can start out bright and early on Monday to visit places of interest," added Lulu; "can't we, Papa?"

"Yes, if you will be careful to be ready in good season. We want to see all we can in the two days of our stay."

"And I don't believe we'll find Lu a hindrance, as some girls would be," said Max. "She's always prompt when anything is to be done."

"I think that is quite true, Max," their father remarked, looking from one to the other with a smile that was full of paternal love and pride; "and of you as well as of your sister."

"If we are, Papa, it is because you have trained us to punctuality and promptness," returned the lad, regarding his father with eyes full of admiring filial affection.

"And because you have heeded the lessons I have given you," added the Captain. "My dear children, when I see that you are doing so, it gives me a glad and thankful heart."

They reached Saratoga the next evening more than an hour earlier than they had expected; and as the moon was nearly full, they were, much to the delight of Max and Lulu, able to wander about the town for an hour or more after tea, enjoying the sight of the beautiful grounds and residences, and the crowds of people walking and driving along the streets, or sitting in the porches. They visited Congress Park also, drank from its springs, strolled through its porches out into the grounds, wandered along the walks, and at length entered the pavilion.

Here they sat and rested for awhile; then the Captain, consulting his watch, said to his children, "It is nine o'clock, my dears; time that tired travellers were seeking their nests."

He rose as he spoke, and taking Lulu's hand, led the way, Max close in the rear.

"Yes, Papa, I'm tired enough to be very willing to go to bed," said Lulu; "but I hope we can come here again on Monday."

"I think it altogether likely we shall be able to do so," he replied.

"If we are up early enough we might run down here for a drink of the water before breakfast on Monday," said Max. "Can't we, Papa?"

"Yes, all three of us," replied the Captain. "Let us see who will be ready first."

They passed a quiet, restful Sabbath, very much as it would have been spent at home; then, on Monday morning, all three were up and dressed in season for a visit to some of the nearer springs before breakfast.

They went to the Park together, took their drinks, returned after but a few minutes spent in the garden, breakfasted, and shortly after leaving the table were in a carriage on their way to Schuylerville.

They visited the battle-ground first, then the place of surrender, with its interesting monument.

"We will look at the outside first," the Captain said, as they drew near it. "It is called the finest of its kind, and stands upon the crowning height of Burgoyne's intrenched camp."

"I wonder how high it is," Max said inquiringly, as they stood at some distance from the base, he with his head thrown back, his eyes fixed upon the top of the shaft.

"It is said to be more than four hundred and fifty feet above the level of the river," replied his father.

"Oh, I wonder if we couldn't see the battle-field from the top!" exclaimed Lulu, excitedly. "I suppose they'll let us climb up there, won't they, Papa?"

"Yes, for a consideration," returned the Captain, smiling at her eager look; "but first let us finish our survey of the outside."

"What kind of stone is this, sir?" asked Max, pointing to the base.

"Light granite," replied his father. "And the shaft is of dark granite, rough hewn, as you will notice."

"And there are gables," remarked Lulu,—"great high ones."

"Yes; nearly forty feet high, and resting at their bases upon granite eagles with folded wings. Observe, too, the polished granite columns, with carved capitals, which all the cornices of doors and windows rest upon."

"And the niches over the doors," said Max, still gazing upward as they walked slowly around the shaft, "one empty I see, each of the others with a statue in it. Oh, they are the generals who commanded our troops in the battle!"

"Yes," said his father, "Generals Schuyler, Morgan, and Gates,—who by the way was hardly worthy of the honour, as he gave evidence of cowardice, remaining two miles away from the field of battle, all ready for a possible retreat, while Burgoyne was in the thickest of the fight. The fourth and empty one, do you not see, has the name of Arnold carved underneath it."

"Oh, yes, Arnold the traitor!" exclaimed Max. "How could he turn against his country? But, Papa, he did do good service in this battle and some of the earlier ones, and it's such a pity he turned traitor!"

"Yes, a very great pity!" assented the Captain, heaving an involuntary sigh. "While detesting his treachery, I have always felt that he has not received deserved credit for his great services in the earlier part of the war,—the expedition to Canada, and besides smaller engagements, the terrible battle of Valcour Island, Lake Champlain, in which he was defeated only by the great superiority of the enemy in numbers of both men and vessels. Though beaten, he brought away to Ticonderoga his remaining vessels and surviving troops. His obstinate resistance so discouraged the British general, Carleton, that he retired to Montreal for the winter, which made it possible for the Northern army to spare three thousand troops to help Washington in striking his great blows at Princeton and Trenton."

"And after all that, as I remember reading," said Max, "Congress treated Arnold shamefully, promoting other officers over his head who neither stood so high in rank nor had done half the service he had. I'm sure his anger at the injustice was very natural; yet he still fought bravely for his country,—didn't he, Papa?"

"Yes; and all that occurred some months before this battle of Saratoga, in which he did such service. Ah, if his career had ended there and then, what a patriot he would now be considered! It is almost certain that if he had been properly reinforced by Gates, he would have inflicted a crushing defeat upon Burgoyne at, or shortly after, the battle of Freeman's farm. But Gates was very jealous of Arnold, disliking him as a warm friend of General Schuyler, and the two had a fierce quarrel between that battle and the one of Saratoga, occasioned by Gates, prompted by his jealousy, taking some of Arnold's best troops from his command. Arnold then asked and received permission to return to Philadelphia; but the other officers, perceiving that another and decisive battle was about to be fought, persuaded Arnold to remain and share in it, as they had no confidence in Gates, who was, without doubt, a coward. He showed himself such by remaining in his tent while the battle was going on, though Burgoyne was, as I have said, in the thick of it. It was a great victory that crowned our arms on the 7th of October, 1777, and was due more to Arnold's efforts than to those of any other man, though Morgan also did a great deal to win it."

"Wasn't Arnold wounded in this battle, Papa?" asked Max.

"Yes, severely, in the leg which had been hurt at Quebec. It was just at the close of the battle. He was carried on a litter to Albany, where he remained, disabled, till the next spring. One must ever detest treason and a traitor; yet I think it quite possible—even probable—that if Arnold had always received fair and just treatment, he would never have attempted to betray his country as he afterward did. Now we will go inside, and see what we can find of interest there."

The Captain led the way as he spoke.

They lingered awhile in the lower room examining with great interest the tablets and historical pictures, sculptured in bronze, alto rilievo, which adorned its walls.

"Oh, Papa, see!" cried Lulu; "here is Mrs. Schuyler setting fire to a field of wheat to keep the British from getting it, I suppose."

"Yes," her father said; "these are Revolutionary scenes."

"Here is George III.," said Max, "consulting with his ministers how he shall subdue the Americans. Ha, ha! they did their best, but couldn't succeed. My countrymen of that day would be free."

"As Americans always will, I hope and believe," said Lulu. "I feel sure your countrywomen will anyhow."

At that her father, giving her a smile of mingled pleasure and amusement, said, "Now we will go up to the top of the shaft, and take a bird's-eye view of the surrounding country."

They climbed the winding stairway to its top, and from thence had a view of not only the battle-field, but of other historic spots also lying in all directions.

Max and Lulu were deeply interested, and had many questions to ask, which their father answered with unfailing patience.

But, indeed, ardent patriot that he was, he keenly enjoyed making his children fully acquainted with the history of their country, and there was much connected with the surrounding scenes which it was a pleasure to relate, or remind them of, as having happened there.

From the scenes of the fight and the surrender they drove on to the Marshall place, the Captain giving the order as they reseated themselves in the carriage.

"The Marshall place, Papa? What about it?" asked Max and Lulu in a breath.

"It is a house famous for its connection with the fighting in the neighbourhood of Saratoga," replied the Captain. "It was there the Baroness Riedesel took refuge with her children on the 10th of October, 1777, about two o'clock in the afternoon, going there with her three little girls, trying to get as far from the scene of conflict as she well could."

"Oh, yes, sir!" said Max. "I remember, now, that there was a Baron Riedesel in the British army,—a Hessian officer, in command of four thousand men; wasn't he, Papa?"

"Yes; and his wife seems to have been a lovely woman. She nursed poor General Frazer in his dying agonies. You may remember that he was killed by one of Morgan's men in the battle of Bemis Heights, or Saratoga, fought on the 7th,—or rather, I should say, he was mortally wounded and carried to the Taylor House, where the Baroness Riedesel had prepared a dinner for the officers, which was standing partly served upon the table. He lay there in great agony until the next morning, and then died."

"Oh, yes, Papa, I remember about him!" said Lulu; "and that he was buried the same evening in the Great Redoubt, which was a part of the British intrenchments on the hills near the river."

"Yes, the strongest part," said Max. "I remember reading of it, and that the Americans opened fire on the procession from the other side of the river, not understanding what it was; so that while the chaplain was reading the service at the grave, hostile shots were ploughing up the ground at his feet, and covering the party with dust."

"Oh, Papa, won't you take us to see his grave?" asked Lulu.

"Yes, daughter, if we have time."

"Here we are, sir. This is the Marshall place," announced the driver, reining in his horses in front of a modest-looking farm-house; "and here comes a lad that'll show you round, and tell you the whole story of what happened in and about here in the time of the Revolution."

The Captain quickly alighted, helped Lulu out, and Max sprang after them.

The lad had already opened the gate, and lifted his hat with a bow and smile. "Good-morning!" he said.

Captain Raymond returned the salutation, adding, "I would like very much to show my children those parts of your house here connected with Revolutionary memories, if—"

"Oh, yes, sir; yes!" returned the boy, pleasantly. "I'll take you in and about; it's quite the thing for visitors to Saratoga to come over here on that errand."

He led the way into the house as he spoke, the Captain, Max, and Lulu following.

They passed through a hall, and on into the parlour, without meeting any one.

"This," said the lad, "is the northeast room, where Surgeon Jones was killed by a cannon-ball; perhaps you may remember about it, sir. The doctors were at work on him, cutting off a wounded leg, when a ball came in at that northeast corner and took off his other leg in its way diagonally across the room. They gave up trying to save him, then, and left him to die in yon corner," pointing to it as he spoke.

"Poor fellow!" sighed Lulu. "I can't help feeling sorry for him, though he was an enemy to my country."

"No, Miss, it was a pity, and does make one feel sorry; for I suppose he really had no choice but to obey the orders of his king," returned the lad. "Well, the ball passed on, broke through the plank partition of the hall, and buried itself in the ground outside. They say eleven cannon-balls passed through the house in just a little while. For my part, I'd rather have been in a battle than keeping quiet here to be shot at."

"I certainly would," said the Captain.

"I, too," said Max. "I should say there was very little fun in standing such a fire with no chance to return it."

"Yes; and our people would never have fired on them if they had known they were women, children, and wounded men; but you see they—the Americans—saw people gathering here, and thought the British were making the place their headquarters. So they trained their artillery on it, and opened such a fire as presently sent everybody to the cellar. Will you walk down and look at that, sir?" addressing the Captain.

"If it is convenient," he returned, following with Max and Lulu as their young guide led the way.

"Quite, sir," he answered; then, as they entered the cellar, "There have been some changes in the hundred years and more that have passed since that terrible time," he said. "You see there is but one partition wall now; there were two then, but one has been torn down, and the floor cemented. Otherwise the cellars are just as they were at the time of the fight; only a good deal cleaner, I suspect," he added, with a smile, "for packed as they were with women, children, and wounded officers and soldiers, there must have been a good deal of filth about, as well as bad air."

"They certainly are beautifully clean, light, and sweet now, whatever they may have been on that October day of 1777," the Captain said, glancing admiringly at the rows of shining milk-pans showing a tempting display of thick yellow cream, and the great fruit-bins standing ready for the coming harvest.

"Yes, sir; to me it seems a rather inviting-looking place at present," returned the lad, glancing from side to side with a smile of satisfaction; "but I've sometimes pictured it to myself as it must have looked then,—crowded, you know, with frightened women and children, and wounded officers being constantly brought in for nursing, in agonies of pain, groaning, and perhaps screaming, begging for water, which could be got only from the river, a soldier's wife bringing a small quantity at a time."

"Yes, a woman could do that, of course," said Lulu; "for our soldiers would never fire on a woman,—certainly not for doing such a thing as that."

"No, of course not," exclaimed Max, in a scornful tone. "American men fire on a woman doing such a thing as that? I should say not!"

"No, indeed, I should hope not!" returned their young conductor, leading the way from the cellar to the upper hall, and out into the grounds. "Yonder," he said, pointing with his finger, "away to the southwest, Burgoyne's troops were stationed; the German auxiliaries, too, were resting from their fight, near Bemis Heights. Away to the west there, Morgan's famous riflemen were taking up their position along Burgoyne's front and flank, while Colonel Fellows was over yonder," turning to the east and again pointing with his finger, "bringing his batteries to bear upon the British. Just as the Baroness Riedesel in her calash with her three little girls stopped before the house, some American sharpshooters across the river levelled their muskets, and she had barely time to push her children to the bottom of the wagon and throw herself down beside them, before the bullets came whistling overhead. Neither she nor the little folks were hurt, but a soldier belonging to their party was badly wounded. The Baroness and her children spent the night there in the cellar. So did other ladies from the British army who followed her to this retreat that afternoon. They were in one of its three divisions, the wounded officers in another, and the common soldiers occupied the third."

"It must have been a dreadful night to the poor Baroness and those little girls," remarked Lulu, who was listening with keenest interest.

"Yes, indeed," responded the lad; "the cries and groans of the wounded, the darkness, dampness, and filth and stench of the wounds, all taken together, must have made an awful night for them all. I wonder, for my part, that the women and children weren't left at home in their own countries."

"That's where they ought to have been, I think," said Lulu. "Was it that night Surgeon Jones was killed?"

"No, Miss, the next day, when the Americans began firing again harder than ever."

"Where were they firing from then?" Lulu asked.

"The other side of the river, Miss; probably from some rising ground a little north of Batten Kil."

"Well, sir, what more have you to show us?" asked the Captain, pleasantly.

"A plank cut and shattered at one end, probably by the ball that killed the Surgeon. This way, if you please; here it is. And here is a rafter which you see has been partly cut in two by a shell. It was taken out of the frame of the house while they were repairing in 1868. Here are some other bits of shot and shell that have been ploughed up on the farm at different times. Ah! there are some things at the house I should have shown you."

"We will not mind going back so short a distance," said the Captain, "and would be glad to see everything you have to show us."

"Yes, sir; and I think you will say these things are worth looking at."

He led them back into the house and exhibited, first, a gold coin with the figure and inscription of George III. on one side, the British arms and an inscription with the date 1776 on the other, then a curious old musket, with bayonet and flint lock, which was carried in the Revolutionary War by an ancestor of the family now residing there.

CHAPTER II.

"You may take us now to Frazer's grave," Captain Raymond said to the driver as they re-entered their carriage after a cordial good-by and liberal gift to their young guide.

"Please tell us something more about Frazer, Papa, won't you?" requested Lulu.

"Willingly," returned her father. "Frazer was a brave and skilful officer; made brigadier-general for America only, by Carleton, in June, 1776. He helped to drive the Americans out of Canada in that year. Burgoyne chose him to command the light brigade which formed the right wing of the British army, so that he was constantly in the advance. In the fight of October 7th he made a conspicuous figure, dressed in the full uniform of a field-officer, mounted on a splendid iron-gray gelding, and exerting himself to encourage and cheer on his men. Morgan saw how important he was to the British cause, pointed him out to his sharpshooters, and bade them cut him off. 'That gallant officer,' he said, 'is General Frazer. I admire and honour him; but it is necessary he should die, because victory for the enemy depends upon him. Take your stations in that clump of bushes, and do your duty!' They obeyed, and in five minutes Frazer fell mortally wounded, and was carried from the field by two grenadiers. Only a few moments before he was hit, the crupper of his horse was cut by a rifle-ball, and directly afterward another passed through the horse's mane, a little back of his ears. Then his aide said, 'General, it is evident that you are marked out for particular aim; would it not be prudent for you to retire from this place?' 'My duty forbids me to retire from danger,' Frazer answered; and the next moment he fell. That is Lossing's account; and he goes on to say that Morgan has been censured for the order by some persons, professing to understand the rules of war, as guilty of a highly dishonourable act; also by others, who gloat over the horrid details of the slaying of thousands of humble rank-and-file men as deeds worthy of a shout for glory, and have no tears to shed for the slaughtered ones, but affect to shudder at such a cold-blooded murder of an officer on the battle-field. But, as Lossing justly remarks, the life of an officer is no dearer to himself, his wife, and children, than that of a private to his, and that the slaying of Frazer probably saved the lives of hundreds of common soldiers."

"Yes, Papa," returned Max, thoughtfully; "and so I think Morgan deserves all praise for giving that order to his men. If Frazer did not want to lose his life, he should not have come here to help crush out liberty in this country."

"Papa, do you think he hated the Americans?" asked Lulu.

"No, I presume not; his principal motive in coming here and taking an active part in the war was probably to make a name for himself as a brave and skilful officer,—at least, so I judge from his dying exclamation, 'Oh, fatal ambition!'"

"How different he was from our Washington," exclaimed Max. "He seemed to want nothing for himself, and sought only his country's good. Papa, it does seem to me that Washington was the greatest mere man history tells of."

"I think so," responded the Captain; "he seems to have been so entirely free from selfishness, ambition, and pride. And yet he had enemies and detractors, even among those who wished well to the cause for which he was doing so much."

"Such a burning shame!" cried Lulu, her eyes flashing. "Was Gates one of them, Papa?"

"Yes; to his shame, be it said, he was. He treated Washington with much disrespect, giving him no report whatever of the victory at Saratoga. It was not until early in November that he wrote at all to the commander-in-chief, and then merely mentioned the matter incidentally. In that month Gates was made president of the new Board of War and Ordnance, and during the following winter he joined with what is known as the 'Conway cabal' in an effort to supplant Washington in the chief command of the army."

"What a wretch!" exclaimed Lulu. "It would have been a very bad thing for our cause if he had succeeded,—wouldn't it, Papa?"

"Without doubt," answered the Captain; "for though Gates had some very good qualities, he was far from being fit to fill the position held by Washington."

"He wasn't a good Christian man, like Washington, was he, Papa?" she asked.

"No, not by any means at that time, though it is said—I hope with truth—that he afterward became one. He was arrogant, untruthful, and had an overweening confidence in his own ability. Yet he had some noble traits; he emancipated his slaves, and provided for those who were unable to take care of themselves. Also, he was, it is said, a good and affectionate husband and father."

"Papa, wasn't it known whose shot killed Frazer?" queried Max.

"Yes; it was that of a rifleman named Timothy Murphy. He was posted in a small tree, took deliberate aim, and saw Frazer fall. Frazer, too, told some one he saw the man who shot him, and that he was in a tree. Murphy was one of Morgan's surest shots."

"I should think he must always have felt badly about it, only that he knew he did it to help save his country," said Lulu.

"It seemed to be necessary for the salvation of our country," replied her father; "and no doubt that thought prevented Murphy's conscience from troubling him."

"Didn't the Americans at first fire on the funeral procession, Papa?" asked Lulu.

"Yes; but ceased as soon as they understood the nature of the gathering, and at regular intervals the solemn boom of a single cannon was heard along the valley. It was a minute-gun, fired by the Americans in honour of their fallen foe, the gallant dead. Ah, here we are at his grave!" added the Captain, as horses and vehicle came to a standstill and the carriage-door was thrown open.

They alighted and walked about the grave and its monument, pausing to read the inscription on the latter.

"Though an enemy to our country, he was a gallant man, a brave and good soldier," remarked the Captain, reflectively.

"Yes, Papa; and I can't help feeling sorry for him," said Lulu. "I suppose he had to obey his king's orders of course; he couldn't well help it, and probably he had no real hatred to the people of this country. It does seem hard that he had to die and be buried so far away from all he loved."

"Yes," said Max; "but he had to be killed to save our country, since he would use his time and talents in trying to help reduce her to slavery. I'm sorry for him, too; but as he would put his talents to so wrong a use, there was no choice but to kill him,—isn't that so, Papa?"

"I think so," replied the Captain; "but it was a great pity. Frazer was a brave officer, idolized by his own men, and respected by even his enemies."

"It seems sad he should lie buried so far away from all he loved,—all his own people; and in a strange land, too. But he could hardly lie in a lovelier spot, I think," remarked Lulu; "the hills, the mountains, the beautiful river, the woods, the fields, and these tall twin pine-trees standing like sentinels beside his grave,—oh I think it is just lovely! I think he showed excellent taste in his choice of a burial-place."

"Yes, nice place enough to lie in, if one could only be on top of the ground and able to see what it's like," came in hollow tones, seemingly from the grave.

The Captain glanced at his son with a slightly amused smile.

Lulu was startled for an instant; then, with a little laugh, as her father took her hand and led her back to the waiting carriage, "Oh, Maxie, that was almost too bad, though he was an enemy to our country!" she exclaimed.

"I wouldn't have done it if I'd thought it would hurt his feelings," returned Max, in a tone of mock regret; "but I really didn't suppose he'd know or care anything about it."

"Where now, sir?" asked the driver as the Captain handed Lulu to her seat.

"To the Schuyler mansion," was the reply.

"Oh, I'm glad we're going there!" exclaimed Lulu. "I've always liked everything I've heard about General Schuyler; and I'll be ever so glad to see the house he used to live in."

"It isn't the same house that Burgoyne caroused in the night after the battle of Bemis Heights, is it, Papa?" asked Max.

"No; that was burned by Burgoyne's orders a few days later," replied the Captain.

"And when was this one built?" asked Lulu.

"That is a disputed point," said her father. "Some say it was shortly after the surrender in 1777; others, not until soon after the peace of 1783."

"Anyhow it was General Schuyler's house, and so we'll be glad to see it," she said. "Papa, is it on the exact spot where the other—the first one—was? The one Burgoyne caroused in, I mean."

"They say not, quite; that it stands a little to the west of where the first one did."

"But General Schuyler owned and lived in it, which makes it almost, if not quite, as well worth seeing as the first one would have been," said Max.

"Yes," assented the Captain. "It was on his return from Bemis Heights that Burgoyne took possession of the mansion for his headquarters; that was on the evening of the 9th of October. His troops, who had been marching through mud, water, and rain for the last twenty-four hours, with nothing to eat, encamped unfed on the wet ground near Schuylerville, while he and his cronies feasted and enjoyed themselves as though the sufferings of the common soldiery were nothing to them."

"Wasn't that the night before the day the Baroness Riedesel went to the Marshall place?" queried Max.

"Yes," replied his father. "Her husband, General Riedesel, and others, urgently remonstrated against the unnecessary and imprudent delay, and counselled hasty retreat; but Burgoyne would not listen to their prudent advice. While the storm beat upon his hungry, weary soldiers lying without on the rain-soaked ground, he and his mates held high carnival within, spending the night in merry-making, drinking, and carousing."

"What a foolish fellow!" said Max. "I wonder that he didn't rather spend it in slipping away from the Americans through the darkness and storm."

"Or in getting ready to fight them again the next day," added Lulu.

"I think there was fighting the next day,—wasn't there, Papa?" said Max.

"Yes; though not a regular battle. Burgoyne was attempting a retreat, which the Americans, constantly increasing in numbers, were preventing,—destroying bridges, obstructing roads leading northward, and guarding the river to the eastward, so that the British troops could not cross it without exposure to a murderous artillery fire. At last, finding his provisions nearly exhausted, himself surrounded by more than five times his own number of troops, and all his positions commanded by his enemy's artillery, the proud British general surrendered."

"And it was a great victory,—wasn't it, Papa?" asked Lulu.

"It was, indeed! and God, the God of our fathers, gave it to the American people. The time was one of the great crises of history. Before that battle things looked very dark for the people of this land; and if Burgoyne had been victorious, the probability is that the struggle for liberty would have been given up for no one knows how long. Perhaps we might have been still subject to England."

"And that would be dreadful!" she exclaimed with warmth,—"wouldn't it, Max?"

"Yes, indeed!" he assented, his cheek flushing, and his eye kindling; "the idea of this great country being governed by that bit of an island away across the sea! I just feel sometimes as if I'd like to have helped with the fight."

"In that case," returned his father, with an amused look, "you would hardly be here now; or, if you were, you would be old enough to be my grandfather."

"Then I'm glad I wasn't, sir," laughed Max; "for I'd rather be your son by a great deal. Papa, wasn't it about that time the stars and stripes were first used?"

"No, my son; there was at least one used before that," the Captain said with a half smile,—"at Fort Schuyler, which was attacked by St. Leger with his band of British troops, Canadians, Indians, and Tories, early in the previous August. The garrison was without a flag when the enemy appeared before it, but soon supplied themselves by their own ingenuity, tearing shirts into strips to make the white stripes and stars, joining bits of scarlet cloth for the red stripes, and using a blue cloth cloak, belonging to one of the officers, as the groundwork for the stars. Before sunset it was waving in the breeze over one of the bastions of the fort, and no doubt its makers gazed upon it with pride and pleasure."

"Oh, that was nice!" exclaimed Lulu. "But I don't remember about the fighting at that fort. Did St. Leger take it, Papa?"

"No; the gallant garrison held out against him till Arnold came to their relief. The story is a very interesting one; but I must reserve it for another time, as we are now nearing Schuyler's mansion."

The mansion was already in sight, and in a few moments their carriage had drawn up in front of it. They were politely received, and shown a number of interesting relics.

The first thing that attracted their attention was an artistic arrangement of arms on the wall fronting the great front door.

"Oh, what are those?" Lulu asked in eager tones, her eyes fixed upon them in an intensely interested way. "Please, sir, may I go and look at them?" addressing the gentleman who had received them and now invited them to walk in.

"Yes, certainly," he answered with a smile, and leading the way. "This," he said, touching the hilt of a sword, "was carried at the battle of Bennington by an aide of General Stark. This other sword, and this musket and cartridge-box, belonged to John Strover, and were carried by him in the battles of the Revolution."

"Valuable and interesting souvenirs," remarked Captain Raymond.

They were shown other relics of those troublous times,—shells, grape, knee and shoe buckles, grubbing-hooks, and other things that had been picked up on the place in the years that had elapsed since the struggle for independence. But what interested Max and Lulu still more than any of these was a beautiful teacup, from which, as the gentleman told them, General Washington, while on a visit to General Schuyler, had drunk tea made from a portion of one of those cargoes of Boston harbour fame.

"That cup must be very precious, sir," remarked Lulu, gazing admiringly at it. "If it were mine, money couldn't buy it from me."

"No," he returned pleasantly; "and I am sure you would never have robbed us, as some vandal visitor did not long ago, of a saucer and plate belonging to the same set."

"No, no, indeed!" she replied with emphasis, and looking quite aghast at the very idea. "Could anybody be so wicked as that?"

"Somebody was," he said with a slight sigh; "and it has made us feel it necessary to be more careful to whom we show such things. Now let me show you the burial-place of Thomas Lovelace," he added, leading the way out into the grounds.

"I don't remember to have heard his story, sir," said Max, as they all followed in the gentleman's wake; "but I would like to very much indeed. Papa, I suppose you know all about him."

"I presume this gentleman can tell the story far better than I," replied the Captain, with an inquiring look at their guide.

"I will do my best," he said in reply. "You know, doubtless," with a glance at Max and his sister, "what the Tories of the Revolution were. Some of them were the bitterest foes of their countrymen who were in that fearful struggle for freedom,—wicked men, who cared really for nothing but enriching themselves at the expense of others, and from covetousness became as relentless robbers and murderers of their neighbours and former friends as the very savages of the wilderness. Lovelace was one of these, and had become a terror to the inhabitants of this his native district of Saratoga. He went to Canada about the beginning of the war, and there confederated with five other men like himself to come back to this region and plunder, betray, and abduct those who were struggling for freedom from their British oppressors,—old neighbours, for whom he should have felt only pity and kindness, even if he did not see things in just the same light that they did. These miscreants had their place of rendezvous in a large swamp, about five miles from Colonel Van Vetchen's, cunningly concealing themselves there. Robberies in that neighbourhood became frequent, and several persons were carried off. General Stark, then in command of the barracks north of Fish Creek, was active and vigilant; and hearing that Lovelace and his men had robbed General Schuyler's house, and were planning to carry off Colonel Van Vetchen, frustrated their design by furnishing the Colonel with a guard. Then Captain Dunham, who commanded a company of militia in the neighbourhood, hearing of the plans and doings of the marauders, at once summoned his lieutenant, ensign, orderly, and one private to his house. They laid their plans, waited till dark, then set out for the big swamp, which was three miles distant. There they separated to reconnoitre, and two of them were lost; but the other three kept together, and at dawn came upon the hiding-place of the Tory robbers. They were up, and just drawing on their stockings. The three Americans crawled cautiously toward them till quite near, then sprang upon a log with a shout, levelled their muskets, and Dunham called out, 'Surrender, or you are all dead men!' The robbers, thinking the Americans were upon them in force, surrendered at once, coming out one at a time without their arms, and were marched off to General Stark's camp, and given up to him as prisoners. They were tried by a court-martial as spies, traitors, and robbers; and Lovelace, who was considered too dangerous to be allowed to escape, was condemned to be hanged. He complained that his sentence was unjust, and that he should be treated as a prisoner of war; but his claim was disallowed, and he was hanged here amid a violent storm of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning."

"They hung him as a spy, did they, sir?" asked Max.

"As a spy and murderer. He was both; and," pointing out the precise spot, "after his execution he was buried here in a standing posture."

"And his bones are lying right under here are they, sir?" asked Lulu, shuddering as she glanced down at the spot the gentleman had indicated.

"No," was the reply; "his bones, and even his teeth, have been carried off as relics."

"Ugh! to want such things as those for relics!" Lulu exclaimed in a tone of emphatic disgust.

"They are certainly not such relics as I would care to have," returned the gentleman, with a smile. Then he told the Captain he had shown them everything he had which could be called a souvenir of the Revolutionary War, and with hearty thanks they took their leave.

CHAPTER III.

It was dinner-time when Captain Raymond and his children reached their hotel, and at the conclusion of the meal they went immediately to the station of the Mount McGregor road. There was just time for the buying of the tickets and seating themselves comfortably in the cars before the train started.

"Papa, how long will it take us to go there?" asked Lulu.

"Thirty-five minutes," he answered. "It is about ten miles to the mountain; then we go up about eleven hundred feet above Saratoga Springs."

"Yes, sir," said Max; "and here on this time-table it says that in some places the grade is as high as two hundred and forty-six feet to the mile."

"Set that down in your memory," returned his father, with a smile. "Now look out of the windows, Max and Lulu; the country is well worth seeing."

The ride seemed very short,—it was so enjoyable,—and Lulu was quite surprised when the car stopped and all the passengers hurried out.

Every one went into the Drexel Cottage, which was close at hand. A man showed them about, pointing out the objects of special interest,—the bed where General Grant died, the candle he had extinguished but a few minutes before breathing his last, and so on.

They spent some time in the cottage, going quietly about, looking with a sad interest at everything which had any connection with the dear departed great man, then went on up to the mountain top, where stood a large hotel. They passed it, and went on to the edge of the mountain, which overlooks the Hudson River valley.

"Oh, what a lovely view!" cried Lulu, in delight. "What mountains are those, Papa?"

"Those to the east," he replied, pointing in that direction as he spoke, "are the Green Mountains, those to the north are the Adirondacks, and those to the south the Catskills."

"Oh, Lu, look yonder!" cried Max. "There's Schuylerville with its monument, I do believe,—isn't it, Papa?"

"Yes, you are right,—the place of Burgoyne's surrender, which we visited this morning," the Captain answered. "Now suppose we go to the observatory at the top of the hotel, and take the view from there."

Max and Lulu gave an eager assent to the proposal. There were a good many stairs to climb, but the view fully repaid them for the exertion. They spent some minutes in gazing upon it, then descended and wandered through the woods till the train was ready to start down the mountain.

Max and Lulu were tired enough to go to bed at dark; and the next morning they took an early train to Albany, where they boarded a fine steamer, which would carry them down the Hudson River to West Point, where, to the children's great delight, their father had promised to stay a day or two, and show them all of historical interest connected with the spot.

It was the first trip on the Hudson that Max or his sister had ever taken, and they enjoyed it greatly,—all the more because their father was sufficiently familiar with the scenes through which they were passing to call their attention to whatever was best worth noticing, and give all desired information in regard to it, doing so in the kindest and pleasantest manner possible. The weather was all that could be desired,—cloudy, with an occasional shower, seldom heavy enough to obscure the view to any great extent, and just cooling the air pleasantly, as Lulu remarked with much satisfaction.

It was not raining when they landed at West Point, though clouds still veiled the sun. They took a carriage near the wharf, and drove to the hotel. As they alighted, some gentlemen were talking upon its porch, one of whom was in military uniform.

"Raymond, this is a meeting as delightful as unexpected,—to me at least!" he exclaimed, coming hastily forward with out-stretched hand.

"Keith, I don't know when I have had a pleasanter surprise!" returned Captain Raymond, taking the offered hand and shaking it heartily, while his eyes shone with pleasure. "You are not here permanently?"

"No; only on a furlough. And you?"

"Just for a day or two, to show my children our military academy and the points of historical interest in its vicinity," replied Captain Raymond, glancing down upon them with a smile of fatherly pride and affection. "Max and Lulu, this gentleman is Lieutenant Keith, of whom you have sometimes heard me speak, and whom your mamma calls Cousin Donald."

"Your children, are they? Ah, I think I might have known them anywhere from their remarkable resemblance to you, Raymond!" Mr. Keith said, shaking hands first with Lulu, then with Max.

He chatted pleasantly with them for a few minutes, while their father attended to engaging rooms and having the baggage taken up to them. When he rejoined them Keith asked, "May I have the pleasure of showing you about, Raymond?"

"Thank you; no better escort could be desired," replied the Captain, heartily, "you being a valued friend just met after a long separation, and also an old resident here, thoroughly competent for the task, and thoroughly acquainted with all the points of interest."

"I think I may say I am that," returned Keith, with a smile; "and it will give me the greatest pleasure to show them to you,—as great, doubtless, as you seemed to find some years ago in showing me over your man-of-war. But first, let us take a view from the porch here. Yonder," pointing in a westerly direction, "at the foot of the hills, are the dwellings of the officers and professors. In front of them you see the parade-ground: there, on the south side, are the barracks. There is the Grecian chapel, yonder the library building, with its domed turrets, and there are the mess hall and hospital." Then turning toward the west again, "That lofty summit," he said, "is Mount Independence, and the ruins that crown it are those of 'Old Fort Put.' That still loftier peak is Redoubt Hill. There, a little to the north, you see Old Cro' Nest and Butter Hill. Now, directly north, through that magnificent cleft in the hills, you can see Newburgh and its bay. Of the scenery in the east we will have a better view from the ruins of 'Old Put.'"

"No doubt," said the Captain. "Shall we go up there at once?"

"If you like, Raymond. I always enjoy the view; it more than pays for the climb. But," and Mr. Keith glanced somewhat doubtfully at Lulu, "shall we not take a carriage? I fear the walk may be too much for your little girl."

"What do you say, Lulu?" her father asked with a smiling glance at her.

"Oh, I'd rather walk, Papa!" she exclaimed. "We have been riding so much for the last week and more; and you know I'm strong and well, and dearly love to climb rocks and hills."

"Very well, you shall do as you like, and have the help of Papa's hand over the hard places," he said, offering it as he spoke.

She put hers into it with a glad look and smile up into his face that almost made Donald Keith envy the Captain the joys of fatherhood.

They set off at once. Lulu found it a rather hard climb, or that it would have been without her father's helping hand; but the top of Mount Independence was at length reached, and the little party stood among the ruins of Fort Putnam. They stood on its ramparts recovering breath after the ascent, their faces turned toward the east, silently gazing upon the beautiful panorama spread out at their feet.

It was the Captain who broke the silence. "You see that range of hills on the farther side of the river, children?"

"Yes, sir," both replied with an inquiring look up into his face.

"In the time of the Revolution every pinnacle was fortified, and on each a watch-fire burned," he said.

"They had a battery on each, Papa?" queried Max.

"Yes; but yonder, at their foot, stands something that will interest you still more,—the Beverly House, from which Arnold the traitor fled to the British ship 'Vulture,' on learning that André had been taken."

"Oh, is it, sir?" exclaimed Max, in a tone of intense interest. "How I would like to visit it,—can we, Papa?"

"I too; oh, very much!" said Lulu. "Please take us there,—won't you, Papa?"

"I fear there will be hardly time, my dears; but I will see about it," was the indulgent reply.

"You have been here before, Raymond?" Mr. Keith said inquiringly.

"Yes; on my first bridal trip," the Captain answered in a low, moved tone, and sighing slightly as the words left his lips.

"With our own mother, Papa?" asked Lulu, softly, looking up into his face with eyes full of love and sympathy.

"Yes, daughter; and she enjoyed the view very much as you are doing now."

"I'm glad; I like to think she saw it once."

An affectionate pressure of the hand he held was his only reply. Then turning to his friend, "It is a grand view, Keith," he said; "and one that always stirs the patriotism in my blood, inherited from ancestors who battled for freedom in those Revolutionary days."

"It is just so with myself," replied Keith; "and the view is a grand one in itself, though there were no such association,—a superb panorama! The beautiful, majestic river sweeping about the rock-bound promontory below us there, with its tented field; yonder the distant spires of Newburgh, and the bright waters of its bay, seen through that magnificent cleft in the hills," pointing with his finger as he spoke,—"ah, how often I have seen it all in imagination when out in the far West scouting over arid plains, and among desolate barren hills and mountains, where savages and wild beasts abound! At times an irrepressible longing for this very view has come over me,—a sort of homesickness, most difficult to shake off."

"Such as years in the ports of foreign lands have sometimes brought upon me," observed the Captain, giving his friend a look of heartfelt sympathy.

"Dear Papa, I'm so glad that is all over," Lulu said softly, leaning lovingly up against him as she spoke, and again lifting to his eyes her own so full of sympathy and affection. "Oh, it is so pleasant to have you always at home with us!"

A smile and an affectionate pressure of the little soft white hand he held were his only reply.

"Ah, my little girl, when Papa sees a man-of-war again, he will be likely to wish himself back in the service once more!" remarked Keith, in a sportive tone, regarding her with laughing eyes.

"No, sir, I don't believe it," she returned stoutly. "Papa loves his home and wife and children too well for that; besides, he has resigned from the navy, and I don't believe they'd take him back again."

"Well, Lu," said Max, "that's a pretty way to talk about Papa! Now, it's my firm conviction that they'd be only too glad to get him back."

"That's right, Max; stand up for your father always," laughed Keith. "He is worthy of it; and I don't doubt the government would be ready to accept his services should he offer them."

"Of course," laughed the Captain; "but I intend to give them those of my son instead," turning a look upon Max so proudly tender and appreciative that the lad's young heart bounded with joy.

"Ah, is that so?" said Keith, gazing appreciatively into the lad's bright young face. "Well, I have no doubt he will do you credit. Max, my boy, never forget that you have the credit of an honourable name to sustain, and that in so doing you will make your father a proud and happy man."

"That is what I want to do, sir," replied Max, modestly. Then hastily changing the subject, "Papa, is that town over there Phillipstown?"

"Yes; what do you remember about it?"

"That a part of our Revolutionary army was camped there in 1781. And there, over to the left, is Constitution Island,—isn't it, sir?"

"Yes," answered his father; then went on to tell of the building of the fort from which the island takes its name, and its abandonment a few days after the capture by the British of Forts Clinton and Montgomery, near the lower entrance to the Highlands, in 1777.

"Such a pity, after they had been to all the expense and trouble of building it!" remarked Lulu.

"Yes, quite a waste," said Max; "but war's a wasteful business anyway it can be managed."

"Quite true, Max," said, Mr. Keith; "and soldier though I am, I sincerely hope we may have no more of it in this land."

"No, sir; but the best way to keep out of it is to show ourselves ready for self-defence. That is what Papa says."

"And I entirely agree with him. Shall we go now, Raymond, and see what of interest is to be found in the buildings and about the grounds of the academy?"

The Captain gave a ready assent, and they retraced their steps, he helping Lulu down the mountain as he had helped her up.

Keith took them, first, to the artillery laboratory to see, as he said, some trophies and relics of the Revolution. Conducting them to the centre of the court, "Here," he remarked, "are some interesting ones," pointing, as he spoke, to several cannon lying in a heap, and encircled by some links of an enormous chain.

"Oh," exclaimed Max, "is that part of the great chain that was stretched across the Hudson, down there by Constitution Island, in the time of the Revolution?"

"Yes," replied Keith. "And these two brass mortars were taken from Burgoyne at Saratoga; this larger one, Wayne took from the British at Stony Point. I dare say you and your sister are acquainted with the story of that famous exploit."

"Oh, yes, sir!" they both replied; and Lulu asked, "Is that the English coat-of-arms on the big cannon?"

Her look directed the query to her father, and he answered, "Yes."

"And what do these words below it mean, Papa,—'Aschaleh fecit, 1741'?"

"Aschaleh is doubtless the name of the maker; 'fecit' means he executed it, and 1741 gives the time when it was done."

"Thank you, sir," she said. "Is there any story about that one?" pointing to another cannon quite near at hand.

"Yes," he said; "by its premature discharge, in 1817, a cadet named Lowe was killed. In the cemetery is a beautiful monument to his memory."

"Here are two brass field-pieces, each marked 'G. R.,'" said Max. "Do those letters stand for George Rex,—King George,—Papa?"

"Yes; that was the monogram of the king."

"And the cannon is fourteen years younger than those others," remarked Lulu; "for, see there, it says, 'W. Bowen fecit, 1755.'"

"Oh, here's an inscription!" exclaimed Max, and read aloud, "'Taken from the British army, and presented, by order of the United States, in Congress assembled, to Major-General Green, as a monument of their high sense of the wisdom, fortitude, and military talents which distinguished his command in the Southern department, and of the eminent services which, amid complicated dangers and difficulties, he performed for his country. October 18th, 1783.' Oh, that was right!" supplemented the lad, "for I do think Green was a splendid fellow."

"He was, indeed!" said the Captain; "and he has at last been given such a monument as he should have had very many years sooner."

"Where is it, Papa?" asked Lulu.

"In Washington. It is an equestrian statue, by Henry Kirke Brown."

"Yes; and very glad I am that even that tardy act of justice has been done him,—one of the bravest and most skilful commanders of our Revolutionary War," remarked Mr. Keith. Then he added, "I think we have seen about all you will care for here, Raymond, and that you might enjoy going out upon the parade-ground now. The sun is near setting, and the battalion will form presently, and go through some interesting exercises."

"Thank you!" the Captain said. "Let us, then, go at once, for I see Max and his sister are eager for the treat," he added, with a smiling glance from one brightly expectant young face to the other.

CHAPTER IV.

They reached the parade-ground just in time to see the battalion forming under arms, and Max and Lulu watched every movement with intense interest and delight,—the long skirmish lines firing in advance or retreat, picking off distant imaginary leaders of a pretended enemy in reply to the ringing skirmish calls of the key-bugles, deploying at the run, rallying at the reserves and around the colours.

That last seemed to delight Lulu more than anything else. "Oh," she exclaimed, "isn't it lovely! Wouldn't they all fight for the dear old flag if an enemy should come and try to tear it down!"

"I'm inclined to think they would," returned Mr. Keith, smiling at her enthusiasm. "Now look at the flag waving from the top of the staff yonder."

The words had scarcely left his lips when there came the sudden bang of the sunset gun, and the flag quickly fluttered to the earth.

Then followed the march of the cadets to their supper, and our little party turned about and went in search of theirs.

On leaving the table they went out upon the hotel porch and seated themselves where the view was particularly fine, the gentlemen conversing, Max and Lulu listening, both tired enough to be quite willing to sit still.

The talk, which was principally of ordnance and various matters connected with army and navy, had greater interest for the boy than for his sister, and Lulu soon laid her head on her father's shoulder, and was presently in the land of dreams.

"My poor, tired, little girl!" he said, low and tenderly, softly smoothing the hair from her forehead as he spoke.

At that she roused, and lifting her head, said coaxingly, "Please don't send me to bed yet, Papa! I'm wide awake now."

"Are you, indeed?" he laughed. "I think those eyes look rather heavy; but you may sit up now if you will agree to sleep in the morning when Max and I will probably be going out to see the cadets begin their day. Would you like to go, Max?"

"Yes, indeed, sir!" answered Max, in eager tones; "it's about five o'clock we have to start,—isn't it?"

"Yes, Max. Lieutenant Keith has kindly offered to call us in season, and become our escort to the camp."

"Oh, Papa, mayn't I go too?" pleaded Lulu, in the most coaxing tones. "I won't give you the least bit of trouble."

"You never do, daughter, in regard to such matters; you are always prompt, and ready in good season."

"Then do you say I may go, Papa?"

"Yes, if you will go to bed at once, in order to secure enough sleep by five o'clock in the morning."

"Oh, thank you, sir! Yes, indeed, I will," she said, hastily rising to her feet, and bidding good-night to Mr. Keith.

"I too," said Max, following her example.

"Good children," said their father; then noticing the longing look in Lulu's eyes, he excused himself to his friend, saying he would join him again presently, and went with them.

"That is a beautiful, bright, engaging, little girl of yours, Raymond,—one that any father might be proud of," remarked Keith when the Captain had resumed the seat by his side.

"She seems all that to me; but I have sometimes thought it might be the blindness of parental affection that makes the child so lovely and engaging in her father's eyes," returned the Captain, in tones that spoke much gratification.

"I think, indeed I am sure, not," returned Keith. "About how old is she?"

"Thirteen. Actually, she'll be a woman before I know it!" was the added exclamation in a tone of dismay. "I don't like the thought of losing my little girl even in that way."

"Ah, you'll be likely to lose her in another before many years!" laughed his friend. "She'll make a lovely woman, Raymond!"

"I think you are right," answered the father; "and I confess that the thought of another gaining the first place in her heart—which I know is mine now—is far from pleasant to me. Well, it cannot be for some years yet, and I shall try not to think of it. Perhaps she may never care to leave her father."

"I don't believe she will if she is wise. You are a fortunate man, Raymond! Your son—the image of his father—is not less attractive than his sister, and evidently a remarkably intelligent lad. He will make his mark in the navy; and I dare say we shall have the pleasure of seeing him an admiral by the time we—you and I—are gray-headed, old veterans."

"Perhaps so," returned the Captain, with a pleased smile; "but promotion is slow in the navy in these days of peace."

"Quite true; and as true of the army as of the navy. But even that is to be preferred to war,—eh, Raymond?"

"Most decidedly," was the emphatic reply.

"You leave for home to-morrow evening, I think you said?" was Keith's next remark, made in an inquiring tone.

"That is my plan at present," replied the Captain, "though I would stay a little longer rather than have the children disappointed in their hope of seeing everything about here that has any connection with the Revolution."

"They seem to be ardent young patriots," said Keith. "It does one good to see their pride and delight in the flag. How their eyes shone at the sight of the rally round the colours."

"Yes; and they feel an intense interest in everything that has any connection with the Revolutionary struggle. They get it in the blood; and it has been their father's earnest endeavour to cultivate in them an ardent love of country."

"In which he has evidently been remarkably successful," returned Keith. "I am much mistaken if that boy does not do you great credit while in the Naval Academy, and, as I remarked a moment since, after fairly entering the service."

"A kind and pleasant prediction, Keith," the Captain said, giving his friend a gratified look.

"How many children have you, Raymond?" was the next question.

"Only five," the Captain said, with a happy laugh,—"five treasures that should, it seems to me, make any man feel rich; also, a sweet, beautiful, young wife, who is to her husband worth far more than her weight in gold. 'Her price is above rubies.' And you, Keith,—you have not told me whether you have yet found your mate."

"No, not yet. I sometimes think I never shall, but shall soon become a confirmed old bachelor," Keith replied. Then, after an instant's pause, "I wonder if Lulu's father would give her to me should I wait patiently till she is old enough to know her own mind in such matters, and then succeed in winning her heart?"

"Ah, Keith, is that a serious thought or a mere idle jest?" queried the Captain, turning a surprised and not altogether pleased look upon his friend.

"A sort of mixture of the two, I believe, Raymond," was the laughing reply; "but I haven't the least idea of putting any such mischief into your daughter's head,—at least, not at present. But if I ask your permission half a dozen years hence to pay my court to her, I hope it will not be refused."

"Well, Keith," the Captain said, after a moment's silence, "I should be very loath to stand in the way of your happiness,—still more of that of my dear daughter; but the time is so far off that we need not discuss the question now. My little girl seems still the merest child, with no thought of the cares, pleasures, and duties of womanhood; and I wish to keep her so as long as I can. That is one reason why I rejoice in being able to educate her myself in our own home; and thus far the loves of the dear ones in it have seemed all-sufficient for her happiness. And I own to being particularly pleased with her oft-repeated assurance that she loves Papa better than she does any one else in all the wide world."

"Ah, I do not wonder that she does, for her father is altogether worthy of all the love she can give him!" Keith said, with a half-sigh, thinking of the loneliness of his lot compared with that of the Captain.

"Keith," the Captain said, after a moment's silence, "you tell me your furlough will not expire for some weeks yet. Can you not spend them with us at the sea-shore?"

Donald demurred a little at first, saying he had made other plans; and besides, his going might interfere with his cousins' arrangements.

"Not the slightest danger of that," the Captain averred; "and I am certain that one and all will be delighted to see you."

"And I own to being fairly hungry for a sight of them," laughed Donald. "So, Raymond, your invitation is accepted, and on your own head be the consequences."

"No objection to that; I'm delighted to have you on any terms, reasonable or otherwise," the Captain said, with his pleasant smile.

Max and Lulu had an hour or more of good refreshing sleep before the two gentlemen separated for the night.

Captain Raymond went very softly into Lulu's room, and stood for a moment by the bedside looking fondly down into the rosy, sleeping face, then, bending over her, kissed her tenderly on cheek and lip and brow.

Her eyes opened wide and looked up into his, while a glad smile broke over her face.

"You dear, good Papa, to come in and kiss me again!" she said, putting her arm round his neck and returning his caresses. "Oh, I do think I have just the very dearest, kindest, best father in the whole wide world!"

"That's rather strong, isn't it?" he returned, laughing, but at the same time gathering her up in his arms for a moment's petting and fondling. Then, laying her down again, "I did not mean to wake you," he said; "and I want you now to go to sleep again as fast as you can, because, though to-morrow will, I hope, be a very enjoyable day to you and Max, it is probable you will find it quite fatiguing also."

"Yes, sir; but I don't mean to think about it now, else I'd be wide awake presently, and maybe not sleep any more to-night," Lulu answered drowsily, her eyes closing while she spoke.

He was turning away, when she roused sufficiently to ask another question. "Papa, will you please wake me when the time comes to get up?"

"Yes, daughter," he replied. "Do not let the fear of not waking in season rob you of a moment's sleep. I think you may safely trust to your father to attend to that for you."

It seemed to Lulu that but a few moments had passed when her father's voice spoke again close to her side.

"Wake up now, little daughter, if you want to go with Papa and Max to see what the cadets will be doing in their camp for the next hour or so."

"Oh, yes, indeed, I do!" she cried, wide awake in an instant. "Good-morning; and thank you ever so much for calling me, dear Papa!" and with the words her arms were round his neck, her kisses on his cheek.

He gave her a hearty embrace in turn; and then, with a "Now, my darling, you must make haste, we have only ten minutes; but I shall bring you back to rearrange your toilet before going down to breakfast," he released her and went back to his own room.

Lulu made quick work of her dressing, and when her father tapped at her door to say it was time to go, was quite ready.

They found Mr. Keith waiting on the porch, exchanged a pleasant "good-morning" with him, and at once started for the camp.

Max and Lulu were in gayest spirits, and were allowed to laugh and talk till the little party drew near the camp, when their father bade them be quiet, and amuse themselves for the present by looking and listening.

He spoke in a kind, pleasant tone, and they obeyed at once.

Down by the guard-tents they could see a dim, drowsy gleam, as of a lantern; the gas-jets along the way seemed to burn dimly, too, as the daylight grew stronger, and up about the hill-tops on the farther side of the river the sky was growing rosy and bright with the coming day. But all was so quiet, so still, where the tents were that it seemed as if everybody there must be still wrapped in slumber; and Lulu was beginning to think Mr. Keith must have called for them a little earlier than necessary, when a sudden gleam and rattle among the trees almost made her jump, so startled was she, while at the same instant a stern, boyish voice called out, "Who comes there?" and a sentry stood before them wrapped in an overcoat,—for the morning was very cool up there among the mountains,—and with the dew dripping from his cap.

"Friends, with the countersign," replied Mr. Keith.

"Halt, friends! Advance one with the countersign," commanded the sentry; and while the Captain and his children stood still where they were, Mr. Keith stepped up to the levelled bayonet and whispered a word or two in the ear of the young sentinel which at once caused a change in his attitude toward our party,—respectful attention taking the place of the fierce suspicion. "Advance, friends!" he said, bringing his heels together and his rifle to the carry, then stood like a statue while they passed on into the camp he guarded.

Max and Lulu, remembering their father's order to them to keep quiet, said nothing, but were careful to make the very best use of their eyes.

Down by the tents, on the south and east sides, they could see sentries pacing their rounds, but there was as yet no sound or movement among the occupants.

Some drummer-boys were hurrying over the plain toward the camp, while a corporal and two cadets were silently crossing to the northeast corner, where stood a field-piece dripping with dew.

Max motioned to Lulu to notice what they were doing, and as he did so they had reached the gun, and there was a dull thud as they rammed home their cartridge.

The drummer-boys were chattering together in low tones, glancing now and again at the clock in the "Academic" tower over on the other side of the plain. Suddenly a mellow stroke began to tell the hour, but the next was drowned in the roar of the gun as it belched forth fire and smoke, while at the same instant drum and fife broke forth in the stirring strains of the reveille.

Lulu almost danced with delight, looking up into her father's face with eyes shining with pleasure. His answering smile was both fond and indulgent as he took the small white hand in his with a loving clasp; but it was no time for words amid the thunder of the drums playing their march in and about the camp.

Lulu could see the tent-flaps raised, drowsy heads peering out, then dozens of erect, slender lads, in white trousers and tight-fitting coatees, coming out with buckets, and hurrying away to the water-tanks and back again.

Presently the drums and fifes ceased their music; there was a brief interval of silence, while the streets of the camp filled up with gray and white coated figures. Then came another rattle of the drums like a sharp, quick, imperative call.

"Fall in!" ordered the sergeants; and like a flash each company sprang into two long columns.

"Left face!" ordered each first sergeant, while the second sergeant, answering to his own name, was watching with eagle eye a delinquent who came hurrying on, and took his place in the ranks too late by a full half-second.

"Ah," exclaimed Keith, "that poor lad will be reported as too late at reveille!"

Lulu gave him a look of surprise. "Dear me," she said to herself, "if Papa was that strict with his children what ever would become of me?"

But the first sergeant was calling the roll, and she listened with fresh astonishment as he rattled off the seventy or eighty names without so much as an instant's pause, using no list, and seeming to recognize each lad as he answered "Here."

It took scarcely a minute; then at a single word the ranks scattered, the lads hurrying away to their tents, while the first sergeant made a brief report to the captain, who stood near, then the captain to the officer of the day.

Our little party had now seated themselves where a good view of the camp might be obtained, and Max and Lulu watched with great interest what was going on there. They could see the lads pull off their gray coats, raise their tent-walls to give free circulation through them to the sweet morning air, pile up their bedding, and sweep their floors.

Lulu gave her father an inquiring look, and he said, "What is it, daughter? You may talk now, if you wish."

"I was just wondering if you had to do such work as that at Annapolis," she said in reply.

"I did," he responded, with a smile, "and thought you had heard me speak of it."

"Maybe I have," she said, with a tone and look as if trying to recall something in the past. "Oh, yes, I do remember it now! And I suppose that's the reason you have always been so particular with us about keeping our rooms nice and neat."

"Partly, I believe," he returned, softly patting the hand she had laid on his knee; "but my mother was very neat and orderly, and from my earliest childhood tried to teach me to be the same."

"And I think I'll find it easier because of your teachings, sir," remarked Max.

"I hope so," the Captain said; "you'll find you have enough to learn, my boy, without that."

"A good father is a great blessing, Max, as I have found in my own experience," said Mr. Keith.

But the roll of the drums began again, now playing "Pease upon a Trencher;" again the ranks were formed, rolls called; the sergeants marched their companies to the colour line, officers took their stations; first captain ordered attention, swung the battalion into column of platoons to the left, ordered "Forward, guide right, march!" and away they went, to the stirring music of the fifes and drums, away across the plain till the main road was reached, down the shaded lane between the old "Academic" and the chapel, past the new quarters, and the grassy terrace beyond. Then each platoon wheeled in succession to the right, mounted the broad stone steps, and disappeared beneath the portals of the mess hall.

Our party, who had followed at so slight a distance as to be able to keep the cadets in sight to the door of entrance, did not attempt to look in upon them at their meal, but hurried on to the hotel to give attention to their own breakfasts,—the keen morning air and the exercise of walking having bestowed upon each one an excellent appetite.

Max and Lulu were very eager to "get back in time to see everything," as they expressed it, so began eating in great haste.

Their father gently admonished them to be more deliberate.

"You must not forget," he said, "that food must be thoroughly masticated in order to digest properly; and those who indulge in eating at such a rapid rate will be very likely soon to suffer from indigestion."

"And we may as well take our time," added Mr. Keith, "for it will be an hour or more before anything of special interest will be going on among the cadets."

"What do they do next, sir?" asked Max.

"Morning drill, which is not very interesting, comes next; then the tents are put in order."

"That must take a good while," remarked Lulu.

"From three to five minutes, perhaps."

"Oh!" she cried in surprise; "how can they do it so quickly? I'm sure I couldn't put my room at home in good order in less than ten minutes."

"But, then, you're not a boy, you know," laughed Max.

"I'm quite as smart as if I were," she returned promptly. "Isn't that so, Papa?"

"I have known some boys who were not particularly bright," he answered, with an amused look. "Perhaps you might compare quite favourably with them."

"Oh, Papa!" she exclaimed; "is that the best you can say about me?"

"I can say that my daughter seems to me to have as much brain as my son, and of as good quality," he replied kindly, refilling her plate as he spoke; "and I very much doubt his ability to put a room in order more rapidly than she can, and at the same time equally well," he concluded.

"Well, it's a sort of womanish work anyhow,—isn't it, Papa?" queried Max, giving Lulu another laughing look.

"I don't see it so," replied his father. "I would be sorry to admit, or to think, that women have a monopoly of the good qualities of order and cleanliness."

"I, too, sir," said Max; "and I'm quite resolved to do my father credit in that line as well as others, at the academy and elsewhere."

"Are we going at once, Papa?" Lulu asked as they left the table.

"No; but probably in ten or fifteen minutes. Can you wait so long as that?" he asked, with a humorous smile, and softly smoothing her hair as she stood by his side.

"Oh, yes, sir!" she answered brightly. "I hope I'm not quite so impatient as I used to be; and I feel quite sure you'll not let Max or me miss anything very interesting or important."

"Not if I can well help it, daughter," he said. "I want you and Max to see and hear all that I think will be instructive, or give you pleasure."

A few moments later they set out; and they had just reached the grove up by the guard-tents, and seated themselves comfortably, when the drum tapped for morning parade, and the cadets were seen issuing from their tents, buttoned to the throat in faultlessly fitting uniforms, their collars, cuffs, gloves, belts, and trousers of spotless white, their rifles, and every bit of metal about them gleaming with polish.

"How fine the fellows do look, Lu!" remarked Max, in an undertone.

"Yes," she replied; "they couldn't be neater if they were girls."

"No, I should think not," he returned, with a laugh. "Oh, see! yonder comes the band. Now we'll soon have some music."

"And there come some officers," said Lulu; and as she spoke the sentry on No. 1 rattled his piece, with a shout that re-echoed from the hills, "Turn out the guard, Commandant of Cadets!" and instantly the members of the guard were seen hastily to snatch their rifles from the racks, form ranks, and present arms.

"Oh, Maxie, isn't that fine!" whispered Lulu, ecstatically. "Wouldn't you like to be that officer?"

"I'd ten times rather be captain of a good ship," returned Max.

"I believe I'd rather be in the navy, too, if I were a boy," she said; "but I'd like the army next best."

"Yes, so would I."

But the drum again tapped sharply, the cadets in each street resolved themselves into two long parallel lines, elbow to elbow, and at the last tap faced suddenly outward, while the glistening rifles sprang up to "support arms;" every first sergeant called off his roll, every man as he answered to his name snapping down his piece to the "carry" and "order."

That done, the sergeant faced his captain, saluting in soldierly fashion, and took his post; the captain whipped out his shining sword; the lieutenants stepped to their posts.

"This is the morning inspection," Mr. Keith said in reply to an inquiring look from Max and Lulu.

"Are they very particular, sir?" queried Max.

"Very; should a speck of rust be found on a cadet's rifle, a single button missing from his clothing, or unfastened, a spot on his trousers, a rip or tear in his gloves, or dust on his shoes, it is likely to be noted on the company delinquency-book to-day, and published to the battalion to-morrow evening."

"I wonder if they're as strict and hard on a fellow as that at Annapolis," thought Max to himself. "I mean to ask Papa about it."

The inspection was soon over.

"Now," said Mr. Keith, "there'll be a moment's breathing spell, then more music by the band while the cadets go through some of their exercises, which I think you will find well worth looking at."

They did enjoy it extremely,—the music, the manœuvres of the cadets under the orders now of the adjutant, and again of the officer in command.

There followed a half-hour of rest, in which Mr. Keith introduced his friend, Captain Raymond, to some of the other officers, and they all had a little chat together.

But as the clock struck nine the cadets were again in ranks.

"What are they going to do now, Mr. Keith?" asked Lulu.

"This is the hour for battery drill," was the reply.

"Ah, I'm glad we're going to see that!" said Max. "I'd rather see it than anything else."

"The cadets are dividing and going in different directions," said Lulu. "Some of them seem to be going down by the river."

"Yes; some members of the senior class. They are going to what is called the 'sea-coast battery' at the water's edge, and presently you will hear the thunder of great guns coming from there."

"Oh, can we go and look at them?" asked Lulu, excitedly. "May we, Papa?" turning to him.

"I think we shall have a finer sight up here," he replied. "Am I not right, Mr. Keith?"

"Yes; I think we would better remain where we are. I would like you to see what daring horsemen these youngsters are. See yonder are the seniors in riding-dress, with gauntlets and cavalry sabres. Watch how easily they mount, and how perfectly at home they are upon their steeds."

With intense interest and no little excitement Max and Lulu watched and listened to all that followed,—the rapid movements of column, line, and battery, the flash of sabres, the belching of flame and smoke, accompanied by the thundering roar of the great guns, the stirring bugle blasts, the rearing of the horses when brought to a sudden halt. Even the gentlemen showed unmistakable symptoms of interest and excitement.

The hour of battery drill passed very quickly. When it was over the Captain called a carriage, and he, Mr. Keith, Max, and Lulu drove from one point of interest to another, occupying in this way the time till the hour for the boat from Albany to touch at the point. They took passage on it to New York City, where they left it to board a Sound steamer,—a few hours' journey in which would take them to that part of the sea-coast of Rhode Island which had been selected as the summer resort of the family connection.

CHAPTER V.

Early the next morning our party landed at Newport, where they took a carriage for their sea-side home. It was early when they arrived, but they found everybody up, and ready with a joyful welcome, in both that house and the next two, occupied by the Dinsmores, Travillas, and Lelands. The delight of all the Raymonds, from the Captain down to the baby boy, was a pretty thing to see.

The occupants of the other cottages were present, and rejoiced with them; and from one and all Cousin Donald received a very warm welcome. They were evidently much pleased to see him, and soon made him feel quite at home among them.

They all sat down to breakfast together, almost immediately upon the arrival of the travellers, and lingered over the table in pleasant chat, talking of what had occurred to one and another during the absence of the Captain, Max, and Lulu, questioning Cousin Donald in regard to loved ones more nearly related to him than to themselves, and laying plans for his and their own entertainment during his stay among them.

"I hope," remarked the Captain, "that some naval vessel will come within reach, so that we may have a chance to visit her in your company, Donald."

"Thank you; I would greatly enjoy so doing," Donald answered. "I suppose a visit from such a vessel is by no means rare in these parts at this time of year."

"No," the Captain replied, glancing through a window looking upon the sea, as he spoke. "Why, there is one in plain view at this moment!" he cried, starting to his feet.

They all hastily left the table and gathered upon a porch which gave them a good view of the sea and the man-of-war, hardly a mile away.

"My spy-glass, Max, my son," the Captain said.

"Here, Papa," answered Max, putting it into his father's hand. "I knew it would be wanted."

"Good boy," returned the Captain. "Ah, yes," looking through the glass, "just as I thought. It is the 'Wanita,' Captain Wade, an old friend of mine; we were boys together in the Naval Academy." His face shone with pleasure as he spoke. "We must visit her," he added, passing the glass to Donald.

Max and Lulu exchanged glances of delight,—Papa was so kind and indulgent they were almost sure he would take them along if he knew they wished to go.

"Not to-day, Levis? I am sure you must be too much fatigued with your long journey," Violet said, with a look into her husband's eyes that seemed to add, "I could not be content to part from you for an hour just yet."

His answering look was as fond as her own.

"No, dearest," he said, low and tenderly, "nor do I intend to go at all without my little wife, unless she absolutely refuses to accompany me; we will stay quietly at home to-day, if you wish, and perhaps visit the 'Wanita' to-morrow."

It was a bit of private chat, the others being quite engrossed with the 'Wanita,' taking turns in gazing upon her through the glass.

The next moment Lulu was by her father's side, asking in eager beseeching tones, "Papa, if you go on board that war vessel won't you take Max and me with you?"

"I think it highly probable, in case you should both wish to go," he said, smiling at the look of entreaty in her face and its sudden change to one of extreme delight as she heard his reply.

"Oh, Papa, thank you ever so much!" she cried, fairly dancing with delight. "There's nothing I'd like better; and I hope we can all go."

"You would enjoy it, my dear?" asked the Captain, turning to his wife.

"I would enjoy going anywhere with you, Levis; and your company is particularly desirable on a man-of-war," Violet answered with a happy laugh.

"Thank you," he returned, with a bow and smile. "We must have them—Wade and his officers—here too. It will be a pleasure to entertain them."

"Oh, Papa, how delightful!" cried Lulu, clapping her hands.

"Ah, my child, let me advise you not to be too much elated," laughed her father; "they may have or receive orders to leave this port for some other before our plan can be carried out."

"What plan is it?" "To what do you refer, Captain?" asked several voices; for nearly every one had now taken a look at the man-of-war, and was ready to give attention to something else.

The Captain explained.

"Oh, how delightful!" exclaimed Zoe. "Will it be a dinner, tea, or evening party, Captain?"

"That question remains open to discussion, Sister Zoe," he returned, with a twinkle of fun in his eye. "What would you advise?"

"Oh," she said laughingly, "I am not prepared to answer that question yet."

Then the others joined in with proposals and suggestions, but nothing was positively decided upon just at that time.

The day was spent restfully in wandering along the shore, sitting on the beach or the cottage porches, chatting and gazing out over the sea, or napping,—most of the last-named being done by the lately returned travellers.

The little girls of the family, occasionally joined by Max Raymond and Walter Travilla, spent much of the day together, rather apart from their elders,—Lulu most of the time giving an account of her trip out West and weeks of sojourn in the town of Minersville, the acquaintances she had made, and all that had happened during the stay there, especially of the sad occurrence which so seriously marred the enjoyment of the last days of their visit, Max now and then taking part in the narrative.

Both had a great deal to tell about West Point and Saratoga, and the places of historical interest in their vicinity. Evidently the trip to the far West and back again, with their father, had been one of keen enjoyment to both of them.

So the day passed and evening drew on. The little ones were in bed, the others all gathered upon the porches enjoying the delicious sea-breeze, and the view of the rolling waves, crested with foam, and looking like molten silver where the moonbeams fell full upon them.

Every one seemed gay and happy, and there was a good deal of cheerful chat, particularly on the porch of the Raymond cottage, where were Grandma Elsie, Edward Travilla, Donald Keith, the Captain, with Violet and his older children, and some of the other young persons.

The sound of approaching wheels attracted their attention. A carriage drew up in front of the house, and from it alighted a gentleman in the uniform of a captain in the navy.

"Wade!" exclaimed Captain Raymond, hurrying out to meet him. "My dear friend, this is very kind in you. I had hardly hoped to see you until to-morrow, and not then without hunting you up. You are as welcome as this delicious sea-breeze."

"Thanks, Raymond, that's quite a compliment," laughed the other, shaking hands heartily; "but I deserve no thanks, as I came quite as much for my own satisfaction as for yours. I understand you have been here for some weeks, but I only heard of it accidentally this morning."

"But it was only this morning I arrived," Captain Raymond said in a tone of amusement; then, as they had stepped into the midst of the group upon the porch, he proceeded to introduce his friend to the ladies and gentlemen composing it.

There followed an hour of lively, pleasant chat, during which Captain Wade made acquaintance with not only the grown people, but the younger ones also, seeming to take a great deal of interest in them,—Max especially,—listening with attention and evident sympathy as Captain Raymond told of his son's prospect of soon becoming a naval cadet.

"You have my best wishes, Max," said Captain Wade. "I hope to live to see you a naval officer as brave, talented, and as much beloved as your father was, and still is."

Max's eyes sparkled, and turned upon his father with a look of deepest respect and affection as he replied, "I could ask nothing better than that, sir, I am sure."

"And I could wish you nothing better than that you may prove a son worthy of such a father," returned Captain Wade. "I have known him since he was a boy of your age, and never knew him to be guilty of a mean or dishonourable act."

"Thank you, sir," said Max, his cheeks flushing, and his eyes again seeking his father's face with a look of reverence and filial love; "it is very kind in you to tell me that, though it's no news to me that I'm so fortunate as to be the son of a man any boy might be proud to own as his father."

"Bravo, Max!" exclaimed Mr. Keith, with a pleased laugh. "I like to hear a boy talk in that way of his father, and certainly you have a good right to do so."

"No boy ever had a better right than Max has to speak well of his father," remarked Violet, lightly, but with an earnest undertone in her sweet voice, "and no one is more capable of judging of that than I, who have lived with them both for years."

"And no one could speak too well of Papa," said Lulu, with impulsive warmth, "for there couldn't be a better man than he is."

"I should be sorry to believe that, little daughter," he said, putting an arm round her as she stood close at his side. Then he changed the subject of conversation.

A few minutes later Captain Wade took leave, giving all a cordial invitation to return his call by a visit to the "Wanita."

"We had talked of giving you a call to-morrow," said Captain Raymond, "but that would be a very prompt return of your visit."

"None too prompt," returned Wade. "Our time here together, Raymond, is likely to be all too short, and we would better make the most of it."

"So I think," returned the person addressed; "and I hope we shall have the pleasure of seeing you here frequently."

"I think he's just as nice as he can be," remarked Rosie Travilla, as the carriage drove away with Captain Wade, "and I hope he'll visit us again soon."

"So do I," said Lulu, "I believe naval officers are the very nicest gentlemen in the world."

"That's rather strong, isn't it?" laughed her father; "and as you have made the acquaintance of only two or three in the course of your life, I fear you are hardly a competent judge."

"And what of army officers, my little lady?" asked Donald Keith, with a good-humoured laugh. "Have you nothing to say for them?"

"Oh, yes, sir!" she said. "I forgot them at the moment, and I do really think they are almost equal to the naval ones."

"Almost!" he repeated. "Well, even that is saying a good deal for us if your father is a fair sample of those belonging to the navy."

But it was growing late, and the little party soon separated for the night.

Lulu was nearly ready for bed when her father came to her room to bid her good-night in the old way she liked so much. He took her in his arms with a fond caress, asking, "Does it seem pleasant to be at home—or with the home folks—again?"

"Yes, indeed, Papa," she answered, putting an arm about his neck and laying her cheek to his, "but you are always a great deal more than half of home to me. Oh, I do love you so dearly!"

"And I you, my own darling," her father replied, caressing her again and again.

"I'd rather have you to love me, Papa, than have all the money in the world without you, or with a father that didn't care much about me," she continued.

"Dear child," he said in tender tones, "I value you, and each one of my children, more than words can express. Now I must bid you good-night, for you need all the sleep you can get between this and sunrise."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "I do hope to-morrow will be clear, so we can go to see the 'Wanita;' or at least that it won't rain. Perhaps it would be all the pleasanter for a few clouds to keep the sun from being so hot on us."

"No doubt," he replied; "but we must take the weather our heavenly Father sends, and be content and thankful."

"Yes, sir, I'll try to do so; but I do hope it will be such that we can go."

"I hope it will, daughter; but if you should have to give up the trip for the time, I hope and expect to see you do so pleasantly,—which you well may, considering that we are very likely to have other opportunities."

"Well, if anything should happen to keep me at home, and I'm cross or sulky about it, I just hope you'll punish me well for my naughtiness," she said so earnestly that he could scarcely refrain from smiling.

"I'm sure that in that case I should punish myself quite as much as you," he said, giving her another hug. "My dear child, if you care at all for Papa's happiness,—as I am sure you do,—try to be so good that he will never have the pain of inflicting any kind of punishment upon you."

Then he bade her good-night, and left her to her rest.

Lulu's head was scarcely on the pillow before she was fast asleep. When she woke, it was already broad daylight. She sprang up and ran to the window to take an observation of the weather.

"Cloudy, but not raining," she said, half-aloud. "Just as I'd like to have it, if only it will keep so, and not turn to actual rain."

With that she began making a rapid toilet, thinking she would like to take a little run on the beach before the summons to breakfast; but when she reached the porch below, the rain was falling pretty fast.

"Oh, dear!" she sighed, "why couldn't it keep off for a few hours longer?"

"What, daughter,—the rain?" asked her father's voice close at her side, while his hand was laid caressingly upon her head.

"Oh, good-morning, Papa!" she returned, lifting to his a sorely disappointed face. "I didn't know you were here. Yes, sir, it is the rain I'm mourning over,—I do so want to visit that man-of-war to-day; it's really a great disappointment!"

"I'm sorry you should feel it so!" he returned in a sympathizing tone; "but we won't despair yet. I think this is but a passing shower, which will make the trip all the more enjoyable by cooling the air nicely for us. However, should it prove too inclement for our contemplated little jaunt, we must try to remember that our kind and loving heavenly Father orders all these things, and to be patient and content,—more than content, thankful for whatever He sends!"

"I'll try to be content and thankful, Papa; I certainly ought, when I have so many, many blessings, and don't really deserve any of them," she answered, putting her hand into his, and letting him lead her back and forth along the porch, which they had to themselves for the time.

"No; that is true of each one of us," he said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Just as well as possible, Papa," she answered, smiling up into his face. "I didn't know anything from the time my head touched the pillow till I woke to find it broad daylight."

"That is something to be very thankful for, daughter, as you will discover should sickness and pain ever give you long hours of wakefulness, such as fall to the lot of many a poor sufferer."

"I hope that time will never come to either of us, Papa," she said; "but I'd rather it would come to me than to you. Oh, it was so hard to see you suffer that time you were sick here, and that other time, when Thunderer threw you!"

"Ah, I shall never forget how tenderly affectionate and helpful my children were to me then," he said, with a look and smile that made her heart bound.

Now others of the family began to join them. Mr. Keith came out upon the porch too, and after exchanging a good-morning with those who had preceded him, remarked that it seemed doubtful if they would be able to take their proposed trip to visit Captain Wade and his man-of-war. But by the time breakfast and family worship were over, the clouds began to scatter; and in another hour the carriages were at the door ready to convey them to the wharf, whence a boat would take them to the "Wanita."

Every one did not care to go that day; the party consisted of Grandma Elsie, Edward, Zoe, Rosie Travilla, Evelyn Leland, Mr. Keith, and the Raymonds, not including the very little ones, who were left at home in the care of their nurse.

It was pronounced by all a most enjoyable little excursion. The weather proved favourable, clouds obscuring the sun, but no rain falling; the officers of the "Wanita" were very polite and attentive, taking them about the vessel, and showing them everything likely to interest ladies and children.

They, particularly Grandma Elsie and Violet, were charmed with the perfect neatness everywhere noticeable; the decks, the store-rooms, the magazine and shell rooms, the passages, the engine and fire rooms (into which they took a peep),—indeed, all parts of the vessel shown them,—were most beautifully neat and clean.

The battery, which contained some new guns, seemed to interest Captain Raymond and Mr. Keith more than anything else, while the ladies and little girls greatly admired their brilliant polish.

When they returned to the shore there was still time for a delightful drive before dinner, which they took,—the best hour for bathing coming in the afternoon.

Captain Wade and his officers took dinner and tea with them the next day by invitation. A great interest in the navy had been aroused in the breasts of the young people, and they watched the officers furtively, and listened with attention to all they said that had any bearing upon that subject.

Max was more and more in love with the prospect before him, and quite resolved to make the very best of his opportunities should he be so fortunate as to gain admission to the Naval Academy.

His father had told him he might have this week entirely for recreation, but on the coming Monday must begin to review his studies preparatory to the examination he would be called upon to pass through at Annapolis.

"I'm very willing, Papa," he replied. "I've had a long and delightful vacation already out West with you; and as I'm very anxious to pass as good an examination as possible, I want to study hard to get ready for it. And I think it's ever so kind in you to help me by hearing my lessons."

"Well, my boy," the Captain said, with a pleased look, "make the most of your holidays while they last, though I do not mean that it shall be all work and no play even after this week; a couple of hours given to study each day will probably be all-sufficient."

"And may I get up early and take them before breakfast when I choose, sir?" Max asked in an eager tone, that told how delightful he would esteem it to be ready to join in the pastimes of the rest of their party,—driving, boating, fishing, bathing, and strolling along the beach and through the woods.

"Yes, my son, if you can manage to get enough sleep in season for that," the Captain replied in an indulgent tone.

"I think I can, sir," said the boy. "I'll take an afternoon siesta if I don't get enough sleep without."

"That will do," said his father. "Remember health and study must be well attended to, and the more fun and frolic you can manage to get besides, the better I shall be pleased."

Bent on carrying out his plan, Max went early to bed Sunday night, and was up at his books working hard for a couple of hours before breakfast. It still wanted fifteen or twenty minutes of that time when he went down to the porch with his book in his hand.

His father was alone there, looking over the morning paper.

"Good-morning, Papa," Max said. "I am ready to recite whenever you want to hear me."

"Ah! are you, indeed?" the Captain said, taking the book; "then I shall hear this lesson at once."

Max recited very creditably. His father commended him kindly, then said, "I am going in to the city directly after we have had breakfast and family worship, and shall take you with me if you would like to go."

"Thank you, sir; indeed I would!" returned Max, his eyes shining, for he esteemed it one of his greatest pleasures and privileges to be permitted to go anywhere with his father.

"Yes, I think you will enjoy it," the Captain said, smiling to see how pleased the boy was; "I have an errand which I shall tell to no one but Cousin Donald and you. See here," pointing to an advertisement in the paper he had been reading.

"A yacht for sale!" exclaimed Max; "Oh, Papa, are you going to buy it?"

"That is a question I am not prepared to answer till I have seen it, my boy," replied his father. "I shall take you and Cousin Donald, if he will go, to look at it and help me to decide whether to buy it or not."

Mr. Keith joined them at that moment, and was greeted with a pleasant good-morning and shown the advertisement, the Captain telling him that if the yacht proved such as he would like to own, he meant to buy it, and if the plan was agreeable to his wife, to spend the rest of the summer on board, taking his family and friends with him, making short voyages along the coast and perhaps some distance out to sea.

"Taking the opportunity to give my son some lessons in navigation," he added, with a smiling glance at Max.

"Papa! I couldn't ask anything better!" exclaimed Max, hardly able to contain his delight.

"I'm glad to hear it, my boy," his father said. "But now remember that our errand is a secret between us three until we return from the city."

"Then you'll tell Mamma Vi and the rest, sir?" asked Max.

"If I have made the purchase, yes."

The call to breakfast came at that moment and was promptly obeyed.

Max could hardly eat, so excited was he over the prospect of going to the city with his father on so delightful an errand, but he said not a word on the subject.

The coachman had been given his order in good season, and by the time family prayers were over the carriage and horses were at the gate.

"My dear," Captain Raymond said to Violet, "a business matter calls me to the city, but I hope to return in season to take my wife in bathing, or out driving, or wherever she may wish to go."

"Thank you, sir," she said, smiling up into his eyes; "I'll try to be ready for either by the time you return. But is not this a sudden move? I had heard nothing of it before."

"Yes, my dear; but as I am in some haste, I must defer my explanation until I get home again."

"Oh, I don't ask for an explanation," she returned laughingly, as he gave her a hasty good-by kiss; "you have always been so good since my first acquaintance with you, that I am quite sure you may be trusted."

"Ah! I'm much obliged for your good opinion," he answered, with a twinkle of fun in his eye, as he hastily kissed the children, then hurried with Donald and Max to the carriage.

CHAPTER VI.

The "Dolphin" proved a trim little craft, beautifully finished and furnished, a schooner-rigged sailing-yacht, gracefully modelled and nearly new; but her former owner had died, and the yacht was to be sold as a necessary measure for the settling of the estate.

Max went into raptures over her; and the Captain was evidently pleased, though he said very little as he went about examining every part of her with keen scrutiny.

"Isn't she all right, Papa?" Max at length ventured to ask.

"I think she is, my son," was the prompt, pleasant-toned reply. "What is your opinion, Keith?"

"It exactly coincides with yours, Raymond; and if I wanted, and could afford so expensive a luxury, I think I shouldn't hesitate to make an offer for her."

"We seem to be quite agreed in our estimate of her," said Captain Raymond; "and I shall take your advice."

"You are quite sure of her speed?" queried Keith.

"Yes; I have seen accounts of her in the papers, showing that she is a fine sailer, as I should feel confident she would be, judging merely from her appearance. She is a beautifully modelled, well-built little craft."

"Looks rather small to you after the naval vessels you were wont to command?" queried Donald Keith, with a good-humoured laugh.

"Yes; but quite captivating to a lover of the sea, nevertheless, and as I see she is such to Max, and have no doubt that she will be to the rest of my family, I am about decided to make the purchase."

Max drew a long breath, while his eyes sparkled with pleasure.

They at once sought the agent whose business it was to attend to the sale of the vessel. It did not take long for him and the Captain to come to an agreement; and the "Dolphin" quickly changed owners.

Max was enraptured, his cheeks glowing, his eyes fairly dancing with delight. He managed, with some difficulty, to keep quiet till they were in the carriage again on the way home, then burst out, "Papa, I think it's just splendid that you're the owner of such a beautiful vessel! And I hope to learn a great deal about the proper management of one while we're sailing round in her."

"I shall try to teach you all I can, my boy," was his father's smiling reply; "and your pleasure in the purchase doubles my own."

"Thank you, sir," said Max. "I intend to pay good heed to your instructions, and learn as much as possible, so that I may pass a good examination at Annapolis, and do my father credit."

"But, Max, you might do him as much credit in the army as in the navy; and how you could resist the fascinations of West Point, I don't see," remarked Donald Keith, with a twinkle of fun in his eye.

"Well, sir, I suppose it's because I am the son of a seaman; love for the sea runs in the blood,—isn't that so, Papa?"

"Altogether likely," laughed the Captain. "I have been supposed to inherit it from my father, and he from his."

Violet, and the other members of the family, with some of the relatives from the adjacent cottages, were all on the porch as the carriage drew up in front of the house, and its occupants alighted.

"Papa! Papa!" shouted little Elsie and the baby boy, running to meet him.

"Papa's darlings!" the Captain said, stooping to caress and fondle them; then, taking them in his arms, he followed Donald up the porch-steps, Max close in his rear.

"Take a seat, Cousin Donald," said Violet. "We are glad to see you all back again. I have been wondering, my dear, what important business you had to keep you so long away from me and your children."

"It was rather important," returned the Captain, pleasantly. "Max," with an indulgent smile into the lad's eager face, "you may have the pleasure of telling where we have been and what we have done."

"Oh, thank you, sir!" cried Max, and proceeded to avail himself of the permission, going into an enthusiastic description of the beautiful "Dolphin," and winding up with the news that Papa had bought her, and expected to take their whole party—or, at least, as many of them as would like to go—coasting along the shores of all the Atlantic States of New England, and for some distance out to sea.

Lulu was dancing with delight, hugging and kissing her father in a transport of joy, before Max's story came to an end.

"Oh, Papa, how good,—how good and kind you are!" she exclaimed. "I don't think anything could be pleasanter than such a trip as that. It'll be the greatest fun that ever was. And you'll command the vessel yourself, won't you? I do hope so; for I am sure nobody else could do it half so well."

"What a flatterer my eldest daughter can show herself to be!" he said, with a good-humoured laugh. "Yes, I do expect to take command of the dainty little craft,—a small affair, indeed, compared with a man-of-war. My dear," turning to Violet, "we have yet to hear from you on this subject. I hope you approve of your husband's purchase."

"Entirely, Levis. In fact, I am quite as much delighted as Lulu seems to be," she answered, smiling up into his face. "What could be more enjoyable than sailing about in such a vessel, with a retired naval officer in command? When am I to see your 'Dolphin'?"

"Yours quite as much as mine, my dear," he replied. "You have only to say the word at any time, and I will take you over to look at her."

"Oh, will you?" she exclaimed. "Then suppose we all go over this afternoon, and see what she is like."

"Agreed!" the Captain said; then glancing round at the eager faces, "How many of you would like to go with us?" he asked.

He was answered by a prompt and unanimous acceptance of his invitation. They all wanted to see that beautiful "Dolphin;" and after a little discussion of the matter, it was decided that they would give up the bath for that day, and start for Newport harbour immediately upon leaving the dinner-table.

They made a very jovial party, and were delighted with the vessel and the prospect of sailing in her under the command of one so kind and competent as her new owner.

For the next few days Captain Raymond was busy with his preparations for the voyage,—engaging a crew and getting everything on board that would add to the comfort and enjoyment of his family and guests; the ladies also were occupied with theirs, which were not sufficiently great to interfere with the usual pleasures of a sojourn by the sea-side; then one bright morning saw them all on board,—a merry, happy party.

"Where are we going first, Papa?" asked Lulu, when they were fairly under way.

"On a little trial trip along the coast," he answered.

"And then coming back to Newport?" questioned Gracie.

"Possibly," he said, with a smile into the bright, eager face.

"I think I know, though I'm not right sure," Max said, looking at his father with a rather mischievous twinkle in his eyes, "what Papa is thinking about."

"Do you, indeed?" laughed his father. "Well, what is it?"

"Well, sir, I overheard Captain Wade telling you he expected the rest of the squadron would be in soon,—in a day or two, I think he said,—and I have a notion it would be a fine sight for us all, and that my father kindly means to give it to us."

"Ah, indeed! you seem to have a great deal of confidence in your father's desire to give pleasure to you all," laughed the Captain. "Well, my boy, events may perhaps show whether you are right."

The three had followed their father to a portion of the deck at some little distance from the rest of the party, so that their talk was not overheard by them.

"A squadron?" repeated Grace. "What is that? Oh, it's a good many ships belonging together,—isn't it, Papa?"

"That will answer very well for a definition, or description," he replied.

"Oh, how glad I am!" exclaimed Lulu, clapping her hands in delight. "And will they go through all their manœuvres, Papa?"

"As I am not the admiral whose orders are to be obeyed, I cannot say exactly what will be done, my child," the Captain replied. "I can only say I intend to have you in the vicinity in season to see all that may be done. Does that satisfy you?"

"Oh, yes, sir! and I thank you very, very much!" she said, taking his hand in both of hers and squeezing it affectionately.

"I too, Papa," said Grace. "I'm sure we'll enjoy it ever so much."

"I hope so," he answered. "And now can you three keep the secret from the others, that they may have a pleasant surprise?"

"If we can't, or don't, I think we ought never to be told a secret again," exclaimed Lulu, in her vehement way.

"Perhaps you would not be intrusted with one very soon again," her father said; "but," he added, with a look from one to the other of mingled pride and affection, "I feel quite safe in trusting a secret to the keeping of the eldest three of my children. I am quite sure no one of you would tell anything you knew your father wished kept secret."

"No, indeed, Papa!" said Max. "We would certainly deserve to be severely punished, and never trusted by you again, if we should ever so abuse your confidence."

"Just what I think," said Lulu.

"I too," added Grace. "And, Papa, it's so nice and kind in you to trust us!" looking up into his face with a loving smile as she spoke.

"Is it?" he asked, smoothing her hair with fond, caressing hand. "Well, my pet, it is a very great pleasure to me to be able to do so."

At that moment they were joined by Mr. Keith. The two gentlemen entered into conversation; the two little girls ran down into the cabin to see that the maid was making such disposition of their effects as they desired; while Max, joined by Walter Travilla, made the tour of the vessel for perhaps the fiftieth time,—for ever since the purchase, he had spent at least half of every week-day there, learning from his father and others all he could of her different parts and of her management.

Walter, too, had been there again and again, spending hours at a time in climbing about with Max, who took much pleasure in handing over to him the lessons just learned by himself.

The rest of the party were seated on deck enjoying the breeze and the beauties of sea and land,—for the latter was not yet out of sight, though fast receding.

The weather was lovely, every one in the best of spirits, the younger ones full of fun and frolic, and the day passed most enjoyably to all. The evening was enlivened by music from a very sweet-toned piano in the cabin, by singing, conversation, promenading the deck, and gazing out over the water, watching the rise and fall of the waves, and the passing of ships and steamers.

But the day had been an exciting one, especially to the children, and they were willing enough to retire at an early hour. They gathered on deck, each repeated a verse of Scripture, after which they united in singing a hymn, and Mr. Dinsmore led in prayer. Then the good-nights were said, and all the young people, with some of the older ones, retired to their pretty, cosey state-rooms and their berths.

Great was the surprise of nearly everybody when, coming on deck the next morning, they discovered that they were again in Narragansett Bay. There were many exclamations and questions, "How did it happen?" "Whose mistake was it that instead of being away out at sea, we are back at our starting-point again?" These and other like queries were propounded to the owner and commander of the yacht.

He pointed, with a good-humoured smile, to a number of war-vessels lying quietly at anchor at no very great distance.

"The squadron is in, you see; and I thought my passengers would not like to miss the sight of its evolutions, so brought them back to view them. There will be time afterward for a pleasant little voyage along the coast, or where you will."

The explanation was entirely satisfactory to every one, and there was great rejoicing among the lads and lasses.

"What is it they're going to do, Papa?" asked Gracie.

"I have not been let into that secret, daughter," he answered; "but we may find out after awhile by keeping a close watch upon their movements."

"Oh, Papa, you can read their signals, and tell us what's coming, can't you? Won't you?" exclaimed Lulu.

"Yes, my child, I can and will," he replied. "But there is the call to breakfast, and you needn't hurry through your meal; for they are not likely, for some hours yet, to begin anything you would want to see."

Encouraged by that assurance, no one cared to make undue haste in eating all that appetite called for of the excellent breakfast presently set before them. But an hour later found them all on deck, young and old keeping a sharp watch on every movement of the vessels composing the squadron, several spy-glasses being constantly turned in their direction.

"Ah!" exclaimed the Captain, at length, while at the same instant Max asked eagerly, "Papa, what is it they are doing there on the 'Wanita'?"

"Getting ready for inspection by the Admiral," was the reply. "See, the men have donned their uniforms and are taking their places on the deck. And yonder—do you see?—the Admiral and his staff are pushing off from the flag-ship."

The boatswain's whistle and the roll of a drum were now heard coming from the "Wanita."

"Oh, and is that the executive officer on the bridge of the 'Wanita,' Papa?" asked Max, excitedly. "And what is he doing?"

"Giving an order to the gunner, doubtless to fire a salute in honour of the Admiral."

Before the words had fairly left the Captain's lips, the loud boom of the first gun burst upon the ear.

"Oh, Max, wouldn't you like to be in that Admiral's place?" queried Walter Travilla; "I would."

"Oh, our Maxie means to be an admiral one of these days; and I'm sure I hope he will," said Rosie.

"Very good in you, Rosie," returned Max, smiling and blushing; "but I'm afraid I'll be an old man before that happens, if it ever does."

"But you may comfort yourself that you can be very useful in maintaining your country's honour without waiting to be made an admiral," remarked Evelyn Leland, smiling pleasantly at Max.

"Yes," he said, returning the smile, "and it is a comfort. We'd any of us feel it an honour to be useful to our country."

"I'd like to be," remarked Gracie, "if little girls could do anything."

"Little girls are sometimes a very great blessing and comfort to their fathers," the Captain said, smiling down into her eyes while he laid his right hand tenderly on her pretty head, with its sunny curls streaming in the wind.

In the mean while the firing of the salute had gone on, the Admiral and his staff had reached the deck of the "Wanita," the marines presenting arms, and—

"There, what is he going to do now, Papa?" queried Lulu,—"the Admiral, I mean."

"Inspect the ship," replied her father.

"What for, Papa?" asked Grace.

"To see that every part of it is in perfect order."

"I'm sure he will find it so," said Lulu; "for when we were there and were taken all over it, every part was as clean and neat as any lady's parlour."

Captain Raymond now turned away and began talking with Mr. Keith on some subject that did not interest the children, but they continued a close watch of the "Wanita."

The Admiral presently disappeared from the deck, but at length they saw him there again, talking with Captain Wade and his officers; then, in a few moments he and his staff re-embarked and returned to the flag-ship.

"What's going to be done now?" asked one and another.

"Watch, and you will see presently," said Captain Raymond. "If you do not wish to miss something, I advise you to keep both eyes and ears open."

The advice seemed to be promptly followed. All eyes gazed intently in the direction of the "Wanita" and the flag-ship.

Presently a signal was shown by the flag-ship which Captain Raymond promptly interpreted for the enlightenment of those about him,—"Abandon ship."

"What does that mean, Papa?" asked Grace.

"Look and see if you can't find out for yourself," he answered in a pleasant tone.

The signal seemed to have caused a commotion on the deck of each vessel belonging to the squadron. Then there was a great splashing of boats into the water, and of other craft which the Captain explained were life-rafts and catamarans; while at the same time men and boys were scampering about with various articles which he said were provisions, nautical instruments, etc., such as would be needed if the ships were really abandoned out at sea.

"But why would they ever do that, Papa?" Grace asked wonderingly. "I should think it would always be better to stay in their ships, wouldn't it?"

"Not always, daughter. The ship might be on fire, or leaking so badly that she would be in danger of sinking."

"Oh, yes, sir! I didn't think of that," she responded.

"Oh, see!" said Rosie; "they've all pushed off away from their ships, and the 'Wanita's' boats are ahead of all the others."

"Now what are they going to do, Papa?" asked Lulu.

"I can tell that only when I see the flag-ship's next signal," he replied. "Ah, there it is, and tells them to go round the harbour under sail."

The children watched with interest and delight as the order was obeyed. It was a very pretty sight, but soon came another signal from the flag-ship, which the Captain told them was one of recall; and the boats returned to their ships.

CHAPTER VII.

The squadron steamed out to sea, the "Dolphin" keeping most of the time within sight of the naval vessels, its passengers being anxious to see more of the evolutions of the men-of-war, and their commanding officer very willing to indulge their wish. They were out simply for pleasure, and were free to turn in any desired direction.

The weather was all that could possibly be wished; and in the evening everybody was on deck except the very little ones, who were already in their nests. The vessels of the squadron were in sight, and all eyes turned frequently in their direction.

"Do you think they'll do anything to-night, Papa?" asked Grace, taking possession of her father's knee, for at the moment he was sitting among the others.

"Who, daughter?" he asked, smoothing her hair with caressing hand.

"Oh, the Admiral and the rest of them on those war-ships. What do they do at such times when they seem to be sailing around just for pleasure?"

"I rather think it is for profit too," he said. "'In time of peace prepare for war.'"

"But how do they prepare for war, Papa?"

"By having sham fights: going through the motions in a way to do harm to no one; firing what we call blank cartridges,—powder but no balls; getting the men so familiar with their guns that they can handle them rapidly and without making mistakes even in the dark. Ah, see! there it comes!" as at that instant a signal-light from the flag-ship shot up several hundred feet into the air, speedily followed by another and another, till the whole sky seemed bright with them; while Captain Raymond, the only one on the yacht who understood the messages, read them off to the others and called their attention to the movements of the ships in prompt obedience to the orders.

"What is that they're doing, Papa?" asked Grace, presently.

"Arranging themselves in different orders of battle," he replied, and proceeded to explain each movement as it was made.

"It's ever so nice to see them," she said, "though I do hope they won't ever have to do any real fighting."

"I hope not, indeed," her father said; "but in this wicked, quarrelsome world the only way to secure peace is to show that we are ready for self-defence in case of attack."

"How beautifully and promptly every signal is obeyed!" remarked Grandma Elsie. "It is a sight worth coming a long distance to see."

"Yes, Mamma," said Violet; "and I'm proud of our navy, even though it is so inferior in size to that of England."

"Inferior in size, but in nothing else, I believe, Mamma Vi," said Max, speaking with some excitement. "You know we've whipped the British twice on the sea in spite of their navy being so very much larger than ours."

"Yes, Maxie, I believe I'm as proud of that fact as even you can be," laughed Violet, while his father gave him a look of mingled amusement and pride.

"I think," remarked Edward Travilla, "that from the beginning of our national life our navy has been one to be proud of."

"In which I entirely agree with you," said the Captain. "But the exhibition seems to be over for to-night, and the hour is a late one to find our young people out of bed."

"Must we go now, Papa?" Lulu asked in a coaxing tone which seemed to add, "I hope you will let us stay at least a little longer."

"Yes," he said; "my little girls may say good-night now and go at once."

They obeyed promptly and cheerfully, and before long the others followed their example, till Mr. Keith and the Captain had the deck to themselves.

They lingered there for quite a long while, seeming to have fallen upon some very interesting topic of conversation; but it was suddenly broken in upon by the sound of the flag-ship's drum, instantly followed by those of all the other vessels of the squadron.

"Ah, what is the meaning of that, Raymond?" asked Keith, gazing toward the war-ships with keen interest and excitement. "It sounds to me like a call to battle."

"So it is," replied the Captain,—"a night exercise at the great guns, training the men so that they may be ready for all the surprises of a time of war."

Even as he spoke his passengers came hurrying from the cabin, the ladies and young girls wrapped in dressing-gowns and shawls, hastily thrown on to conceal their night-dresses, one and another asking excitedly what was going to be done now. But even as the words left their lips the thunder of cannon burst upon their ears, drowning the Captain's voice when he would have replied.

"Oh, is it war, brother Levis, really war?" queried little Walter, in great excitement.

"No, my boy; only a playing at war, I am thankful to be able to say. You may look and listen without fear that any one is to be killed, or even wounded, unless through carelessness."

But the cannon were thundering again, ship after ship firing off whole broadsides at some imaginary foe. At length, however, it was all over, and the passengers of the "Dolphin" returned to their berths to stay there for the remainder of the night.

"Why, we are anchored, are we not, Levis?" Violet asked of her husband on awakening the next morning.

"Yes, my dear," he answered; "we are riding at anchor in Gardiner's Bay. I suspected that would prove the destination of the squadron, it being about the best place for naval exercises in our Northern waters; and it seems I was right. The squadron is at anchor now at no great distance from us."

"And what do you suppose they will do here?"

"Probably fight some sham battles on sea and land. Do you care to witness such?"

"Oh, very much! I should greatly prefer witnessing a sham battle to a real one. But they won't be likely to begin it immediately, I suppose?"

"No; I presume we shall have time for a hearty breakfast first," replied her husband, with a slight look of amusement. "Don't allow the prospect of witnessing a battle to spoil your appetite for your morning meal, little wife."

"Oh, no," she answered, with a pleasant laugh. "I really am not now so much of a child as all that would come to."

It was not long before she and nearly every other passenger had sought the deck to take a look at their surroundings.

They found Gardiner's Bay a beautiful body of water bounded by islands on nearly every side, that forming its eastern shore bearing the same name. There were a large number of vessels in the bay,—several sloops, schooners, and a yacht or two beside the "Dolphin," to say nothing of the squadron of war-ships. But all were lying quietly at anchor, and our friends willingly responded to the call to breakfast.

Yet no one cared to linger at the table; and when all had finished their repast they quickly repaired to the deck to watch the movements of the squadron. But for a while there seemed to be none, the vessels all riding quietly at anchor.

"Dear me!" Rosie at length exclaimed, "I wish they'd begin to do something!"

"I think they are going to," said Max. "See, there's a boat leaving the flag-ship; I suppose to carry a message to one of the others."

"Oh, I'll go and ask Papa about it!" exclaimed Lulu.

"About what, daughter?" asked the Captain's voice close at her side.

"That boat that has just left the flag-ship, sir," she answered. "Do you know where it's going, and what for?"

"I can only conjecture that it carries some message, probably from the Admiral to the commander of one of the other vessels."

"It's pulling for the 'Wanita,'" said Max; "and see, there are other boats going about from one vessel to another."

"Yes," his father said, "and see yonder are several boats filled with marines, pulling for the shore of Gardiner's Island. Evidently there is to be a sham fight."

"I'm ever so glad it won't be a real one, Papa," said Grace. "It would be so dreadful to see folks killed."

"It would indeed," he answered. "But you may enjoy the show as much as you can, for no one will be hurt unless by accident."

"All the ships seem to be getting boats ready packed with things," remarked Lulu; "I wonder what they are."

"Quite a variety," replied her father,—"great guns, baggage, arms, provisions, and boxes that doubtless contain materials and tools for repairs, compasses, and other articles too numerous to mention. There! the vessels are signalling that they are ready."

"They are getting into the boats!" exclaimed Max, clapping his hands in delight; "and the other fellows that went first to the island seem to be waiting and all ready to fight them."

Every one on the "Dolphin" was now watching the embarkation with interest, the children in a good deal of excitement; it was like a grand show to them.

"Oh, it's a beautiful sight!" said Eva. "How bright their guns and bayonets are, with the sun shining on them! And there are the beautiful stars and stripes flying from every boat. But they are all in now,—at least I should think so; the boats look full,—and why don't they start?"

"They are waiting for the Admiral's inspection and order," replied Captain Raymond. "Ah, see, there he is on the bridge of the flag-ship, with his field-glass, looking them over. And now the signal is given for them to proceed."

The boats moved off at once in the direction of the island where the marines had preceded them. Captain Raymond's explanations making all their movements well understood by the young people around him, who thought they had never witnessed so fine a sight as the mimic fight that presently ensued, opened by the marines firing a volley of blank cartridges from the shore, which was immediately replied to by the approaching boats with musketry, howitzers, and Gatling guns.

Soon they reached the shore and landed, the marines meanwhile pouring forth an unceasing fire from behind their breastworks.

A fierce battle followed; there were charges and counter-charges, advances and retreats, men falling as if wounded or killed, and being carried off the field by the stretcher-men.

That last-mentioned sight brought the tears to Gracie's blue eyes, and she asked in tremulous tones, "Are they really hurt or killed, Papa?"

"No, darling," he said, pressing the small hand she had put into his, "it is all pretence, just to teach them what to do in case of actual war."

"Oh, I hope that won't ever come!" she exclaimed, furtively wiping away a tear. "Do you think it will, Papa?"

"Hardly," he said; "but it would be the height of folly not to prepare for such a contingency."

"Hurrah!" cried Max, throwing up his cap, "our side's whipped and the other fellows are retreating!"

"Which do you call our side? And do you mean it is whipped, or has whipped?" asked Rosie, with a laughing glance at the boy's excited face.

But the Captain was speaking again, and Max was too busy listening to him to bestow any notice upon Rosie's questions.

"Yes," the Captain said, "the marines are retreating; the battle is about over. Our side, as Max calls it, you see, is throwing out advance-guards, rear-guards, and flankers."

"What for, brother Levis?" asked Walter.

"To make sure that they have taken the island."

"And what will come next, Captain?" asked Grandma Elsie, who was watching the movements of the troops with as much interest as the children.

"Fortification, doubtless," he replied. "Ah, yes; they are already beginning that work. They must fortify the island in order to be able to hold it."

"How, Papa?" asked Grace.

"By throwing up breastworks, digging rifle-pits, planting guns, and so forth. If you watch closely, you will see what they do."

The children—to say nothing of the older ones—watched closely and with keen interest all the movements of the troops until interrupted by the call to dinner.

They had scarcely returned to their post of observation on the deck, having had barely time to notice the completed fortifications, the tents pitched, and the troops at their midday meal, when a tiny strip of bunting was seen fluttering at the flag-ship's main.

Captain Raymond was the first to notice it. "Ah!" he said, "the fun on the island is over,—at least for the present,—for there is the Admiral's signal of recall."

"I'll bet the fellows are sorry to see it!" exclaimed Max; "for I dare say they were going to have some fun there on the island they've taken."

CHAPTER VIII.

Things were rather quiet for the rest of the day, much to Max's disgust, though at his father's bidding he tried to forget the disappointment in study.

Toward evening Captain Raymond learned something of the Admiral's plans. Two of the vessels were to take possession of a part of the bay set off as a harbour, the others to blockade the entrance.

In reporting the matter to his passengers, "Now," he said, "the preparations will take them two or three days, and the question is, shall we stay to see it all, or turn about and seek entertainment elsewhere? Let us have the opinion of all the older people, beginning with Grandpa Dinsmore," looking pleasantly at the old gentleman as he spoke.

"My preference would be rather for going at once," replied Mr. Dinsmore; "yet I am entirely willing to have the matter decided by your younger people. I shall be quite content to stay on if it seems desirable to the rest of the company."

The vote of the ladies and gentlemen was then taken, when it appeared that the majority were in favour of immediate departure; and the children, though at first disappointed, grew quite reconciled when a little time had been spent in considering what might be seen and done in other quarters.

"I think, Ned," Zoe said to her husband, "that we would better go back to our cottage, because Laurie and Lily are growing fretful,—tired of the sea, I think."

"Very well, my dear, we will do so if you wish it," was the good-natured reply. "Strange as it may seem, I too am quite desirous to make our twin babies as comfortable as possible," he added, with a pleasant laugh.

"I am sorry you should miss the sight of further operations here, Cousin Donald," remarked Grandma Elsie, turning to her kinsman.

"Thank you, Cousin Elsie," he replied; "but though that would be an interesting sight to me, I expect to find almost if not equal enjoyment in a run out to sea or along shore with my friend Raymond in command of the vessel."

"Oh, I think that'll be just splendid," exclaimed Max, "and that before we get back, Cousin Donald, you'll be ready to own up that the navy is a more desirable place to be in than the army."

"Perhaps he wouldn't own up even if he thought so," remarked Rosie, with a merry look at her cousin; "I don't believe I should if I were in his place."

"Possibly I might," he returned, laughingly, "but I certainly do not expect to fall quite so deeply in love with a 'life on the ocean wave,' though I hope to be always willing and anxious to serve my country wherever and whenever I may be needed. I think both army and navy always have been, and always will be, ready to defend her on land or sea."

"Yes, sir, I believe that's so," said Max. "And if ever we should have another war, I hope I'll be able to help defend her."

"I hope so, my boy," the Captain said, regarding the lad with an expression of fatherly pride and affection.

An hour later the "Dolphin" was sailing out of the bay, all her passengers gathered on deck, taking a farewell look at the vessels belonging to the squadron, and on awaking in the morning they found themselves lying at anchor in Newport harbour.

They returned to their cottages for a day or two; then the Raymonds, Grandma Elsie, with the youngest two of her children, and Donald Keith, again set sail in the "Dolphin."

The weather was all that could be desired, every one well and in the best of spirits.

Max was required to devote a part of each day to study, and recitation to his father, but did not grumble over that, and took great delight in the lessons in practical navigation given him daily by the Captain.

"Papa," he asked one day, "what's the need of a boy going to the Naval Academy when he can learn everything he needs to know on shipboard with a father like you?"

"But he can't," replied the Captain; "how to sail a ship is by no means all he needs to know to fit him to be an officer in the navy."

"Why, what else is necessary, sir?" asked Max, with a look of surprise.

"A number of things which you saw done at Newport and at Gardiner's Bay are quite necessary. He must know how to fight a battle, take charge of an ordnance foundry, and conduct an astronomical observatory; must have a good knowledge of history, be an able jurist and linguist, and a good historian,—besides knowing how to manage a ship in calm or storm."

"Whew! what a lot of things to cram into one head!" laughed Max, with a slightly troubled look on his bright young face.

"Isn't yours big enough to hold it all?" asked his father, with an amused smile.

"I dare say it is, sir," replied Max, "but the difficulty is to pack it all in right. I presume the teachers will help me to do that, though."

"Certainly; and if you follow their directions carefully you will have no need to fear failure."

"Thank you, sir. That's very encouraging," said Max; "and I am fully determined to try my very best, Papa, if it was only not to disgrace my father."

"My dear son," the Captain said, a trifle huskily, and taking the boy's hand in a warm clasp, "I don't doubt that you intend to do as you have said; but never forget that your only safety is in keeping close to Him who has said, 'In Me is thine help.'"

It was Saturday evening,—the first that had found them on the broad ocean, out of sight of land. They were all on deck, enjoying the delicious evening breeze and a most brilliant sunset.

"Papa," Gracie said, breaking a momentary silence, "what are we going to do about keeping the Lord's Day to-morrow? We can't go to church, you know, unless you can sail the 'Dolphin' back to land in the night."

"I cannot do that, daughter," he answered; "but I can conduct a service here on the deck. How will that do, do you think?"

"I don't know, Papa," she replied, with some hesitation, blushing and looking fearful of hurting his feelings; "I s'pose you couldn't preach a sermon?"

"Why not?" he asked, smiling a little at her evident embarrassment.

"Because you're not a minister, Papa."

"Why, Gracie! Papa's as good as any minister, I'm sure," exclaimed Lulu, half reproachfully, half indignantly.

"Of course he is; I didn't mean that!" returned Gracie, just ready to burst into tears; "I didn't mean he wasn't as good as anybody in this whole world,—for of course he is,—but I thought it was only ministers that preach."

"But I can read a sermon, my pet," the Captain said, "or preach one if I choose; there is no law against it. And we can pray and sing hymns together; and if we put our hearts into it all, our heavenly Father will be as ready to listen to us as to other worshippers in the finest churches on the land."

"That is a very comforting truth," remarked Grandma Elsie; "it is very sweet to reflect that God is as near to us out on the wide and deep sea as to any of his worshippers on the dry land."

"You will hold your service in the morning, I suppose, Captain?" Mr. Keith said inquiringly.

"That is what I had thought of doing, sir," was the reply. "Have you any suggestions to make?"

"Only that we might have a Bible class later in the day."

"Yes, sir; that was a part of my programme,—at least I had thought of teaching my own children, as is customary with me at home; but if the suggestion meets with favour, we will resolve ourselves into a Bible class, each one able to read taking part. What do you all say to the proposition?"

"I highly approve," said Grandma Elsie; "I am sure the day could not be better spent than in the study of God's Holy Word."

"Nor more delightfully," said Violet.

"I think we would all like it, Captain," Evelyn remarked in her quiet way.

"I'm sure I shall," said Lulu; "Papa always makes Bible lessons very interesting."

"That's so," said Max; "I was never taught by any minister or Sunday-school teacher that made them half so interesting."

"It is quite possible that your near relationship to your teacher may have made a good deal of difference, my children," the Captain said gravely, though not unkindly. "But who shall act as teacher on this occasion is a question still to be decided. I propose Grandma Elsie, as the eldest of those present, and probably the best qualified."

"All in favour of that motion please say ay," added Violet, playfully. "I am sure no better teacher could be found than Mamma, though I incline to the opinion that my husband would do equally well."

"Much better, I think," Grandma Elsie said; "and I would greatly prefer to be one of his pupils."

"I can hardly consider myself wise enough to teach my mother," said the Captain, colouring and laughing lightly, "even though she is far too young to be own mother to a man of my age."

"But you may lead a Bible class of which she forms a part, may you not?" queried Donald Keith.

"I suppose that might be possible," the Captain replied, with a humourous look and smile.

"I'm sure you can and will, since such is your mother's wish," Grandma Elsie said in a sportive tone, "and so we may consider that matter settled."

"And Mamma's word having always been law to her children, we will consider it so," Violet said. "Shall we not, Levis?"

"As good and dutiful children I suppose we must, my dear," he returned in the playful tone she particularly liked.

Sunday morning dawned clear and beautiful, a delicious breeze filling the sails and wafting the vessel swiftly onward over the sparkling water.

An hour or so after breakfast, captain, passengers, and crew, except the man at the helm, gathered on deck, every one in neat and appropriate dress. The ladies, gentlemen, and children sat on one side, the crew on the other, Captain Raymond standing between. A Bible and a pile of hymn-books lay on a stand before him, and Max was directed to distribute the latter. They were a part of the supplies Captain Raymond had laid in for the voyage.

A melodeon also stood near the stand, and Violet, seating herself before it, led the singing with which the service opened.

The Captain then offered a short prayer, read a portion of Scripture, a second hymn was sung; then he gave them a short discourse on the text, "They hated Me without a cause."

With much feeling and in simple language that the youngest and most ignorant of his hearers could readily understand, he described the lovely character and beneficent life of Christ upon earth,—always about His Father's business, doing good to the souls and bodies of men,—and the bitter enmity of the scribes and Pharisees, who "hated Him without a cause." Then he went on to tell of the agony in the garden, the betrayal by Judas,—"one of the twelve,"—the mockery of a trial, the scourging and the crown of thorns, the carrying of the cross and the dreadful death upon it.

"All this He bore for you and for me," he concluded in tones tremulous with emotion; "constrained by His great love for us, He died that dreadful death that we might live. And shall we not love Him in return? Shall we not give ourselves to Him, and serve Him with all our powers? It is a reasonable service, a glad service,—a service that gives rest to the soul. He says to each one of us, 'Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me; for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.'

"Ah, do not refuse or neglect His invitation, for the only choice is between His service and that of Satan,—that malignant spirit whose fierce desire and effort is to drag all souls down to his own depths of sin and misery; and Jesus only can save you from falling into his cruel hands. But He—the Lord of Life and Glory—invites us all to come and be saved, and 'now is the accepted time; now is the day of salvation.' Delay is most dangerous; life is very uncertain. We are sure of no time but now."

He closed the Bible and sat down; and Violet, again seating herself before the melodeon, softly touched the keys and sang in sweet, low tones, but so distinctly that every word reached the farthest listener,—

"Come to Jesus, come to Jesus;
Come to Jesus just now, just now;
Come to Jesus, come to Jesus just now."

Then, at a sign from the Captain, Mr. Keith followed with an earnest prayer; and with another hymn in which all united, the services closed.

Among the crew was one young man in whom the Captain and Grandma Elsie had both come to feel a peculiar interest. He was evidently an American, and possessed of more intelligence and education than the average sailor before the mast. He had listened with close attention to the Captain's discourse, and with a troubled countenance, as Mrs. Travilla had noticed.

"The Holy Spirit is striving with him, I have little doubt," she said to herself. "Ah, if I could but help him to find Jesus, and to know the sweetness of His love!"

It was not long before the desired opportunity offered. The young man was at the wheel and no one near, while she paced the deck slowly and alone. Gradually she approached, and when close at his side made some pleasant remark about the vessel and the course they were steering.

He responded in a polite and respectful manner.

Then she spoke of the service of the morning, said she had noticed the attention he paid to the Captain's short sermon, and asked in kindest words and tones if he, like herself, was one who loved Jesus, and trusted in Him for salvation from sin and eternal death.

He sighed deeply, then said with emotion, "No, madam, but—I wish I were."

"But what is to hinder, my friend, since He says, 'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out'?" she asked gently, feelingly.

He was silent for a moment, evidently from emotion, then said, rather as if thinking aloud than addressing her, "If I only knew just how!"

"He is very near, and His omniscient eye reads the heart," she said low and feelingly. "Speak to Him just as if you could see Him,—as if you were kneeling at His feet,—and He will hear.

"The Bible says. 'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.' Do you want that cleansing, my friend?"

He bowed a silent assent.

"Then go to Jesus for it," she said. "He, and He alone, can give it. He shed His blood for us that 'God may be just and the justifier of him that believeth in Jesus;' for 'the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.'"

There was a moment's silence; then, "I'd like to be a Christian, ma'am," he said, "such as I see you and the Captain are, but—"

The sentence was left unfinished; and after a moment's pause. "I should like you to be a better one than I am," she said, "but Jesus only can make you such. The work is too difficult for any human creature; but Jesus is all-powerful,—'able to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him, seeing He ever liveth to make intercession for them.' Is not that a precious assurance?"

"It is indeed, ma'am, if—if I only knew it meant me."

"You certainly will be one of those of whom it speaks if you 'come unto God by Him;' and He invites you to come: 'Come unto Me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'"

"Could you tell me just how, ma'am,—as if you were pointing out the right road to a traveller, for instance?"

"I will try," she said. "You must remember that He is always near,—close to us, though we cannot see Him; and you may speak to Him as readily, and with as much assurance that you will be heard, as you have been speaking to me.

"He is full of love and compassion,—love so infinite, compassion so great that He was willing to endure all the agony of death upon the cross, and the far greater suffering caused by the burden of the sins of the world and the consequent hiding of His Father's face; therefore He will not cast you out, will not turn away from you, if you come in true penitence and faith.

"Make confession of your sins and plead for pardon and acceptance as you would if you could see Him while kneeling at His feet; and He will grant it, will forgive all your transgressions and adopt you into His family to be His own child forever."

But others of the passengers were now drawing near, and he had only time to thank her for her kindly interest in him, and promise to think of what she had been saying, before Walter and Max were at her side, calling her attention to a passing vessel.

A very interesting Bible lesson filled up most of the afternoon, both adults and children taking part; and in the evening hymns were sung and conversation held such as was suited to the sacredness of the day.

CHAPTER IX.

A few days longer the "Dolphin" kept on her eastward course, then was headed for the shore of Massachusetts, bound for Boston, where Mr. Keith must leave her, his furlough having now nearly expired. He and his cousins would be sorry to part; but there was no help for it, as Uncle Sam's orders must be obeyed.

The young folks of the party had particularly enjoyed the little trip out to sea, but expected to find a sail along the coast of the New England States quite as much to their taste, particularly as it would give them an opportunity to look upon some of the scenes of incidents in the two wars with England.

They had come in sight of the coast and were all gathered upon the deck.

"That is Scituate, is it not, Captain?" asked Grandma Elsie, indicating a town that had just come into view.

"Yes," he replied, "and I presume you remember the story of the last war with England, connected with it?"

"I do," she answered; "but I presume it would be new to some at least of these young people."

Then entreaties for the story poured in upon her and the Captain from both boys and girls.

"It is but a short one; and I would prefer to have the Captain tell it," Mrs. Travilla replied.

"Oh, Papa, please do!" exclaimed Lulu; and he complied.

"It was, as I have said, during the last war with England that the occurrence I am about to tell of took place. At that time there was a light-house in the harbour kept by a man named Reuben Bates, who had a family of grown-up sons and daughters.

"He and his sons were members of a militia company of the town, and one day during the war they were all absent from home on that business, leaving the light-house in charge of the daughters, Abigail and Rebecca.

"The girls, who were no doubt keeping a vigilant watch for the approach of the enemy, saw a British ship entering the harbour, and conjectured that it was the design of those on board of her to destroy the fishing-boats in the harbour and perhaps burn the town, or at least rob its inhabitants.

"They must have been brave girls, for at once they began to consider what they could do to drive away the would-be invaders.

"I presume Abigail exclaimed, 'Oh, if we could only make them think there were troops ready to defend the town, and so frighten them away!' And very likely Rebecca replied, 'Perhaps we can. If you can play the fife, I'll beat the drum; and if we are hidden from sight they may think there are troops ready to receive them if they come ashore, and so be afraid to land.'

"So they went around behind some sand-hills and played 'Yankee Doodle' in a lively way that had exactly the desired effect.

"The British ship had sent out boats filled with armed men who were pulling for the shore; but on hearing the music of the drum and fife, they evidently concluded that there might be a large force of American soldiers ready to receive them, and thinking 'discretion the better part of valour,' turned about and pulled back to their ship again without attempting to land."

"Oh, wasn't that good?" exclaimed Lulu; "I think the fathers and brothers of those girls must have been proud of them."

"Yes, I dare say they were," said Max.

"I wonder what became of them—those girls—afterward?" said Rosie. "Of course they must have been dead and gone long before this."

"No," replied the Captain, "Abigail died only recently at the advanced age of eighty-nine."

"Papa, won't you stay awhile in Boston and take us to see some of the places connected with Revolutionary times,—Bunker Hill and its monument, and maybe some others?" asked Max.

"I shall be pleased to do so, my son, if nothing happens to prevent," was the pleasant-toned reply. "It is my strong desire to have my children well-informed in regard to the history of their own country."

"And ardent patriots too, Papa, ready to defend her to the utmost of their ability should she be attacked by any other power?" queried Max, looking smilingly up into his father's face.

"Yes, my son; particularly the boys," replied the Captain, smiling in his turn at the lad's enthusiasm.

"Well, there's one of your girls that I am sure would find a way to help, Papa,—nursing the wounded soldiers perhaps, or carrying despatches or something," said Lulu; "perhaps giving information of an intended attack by the enemy, as Lydia Darrah did."

"I have no doubt you would do all you could, daughter, and might perhaps be of more assistance than many a man," her father answered kindly.

"I'm afraid I shouldn't be brave enough to do such things as that," remarked Grace, with a look that seemed to say she felt herself quite inferior to her braver sister; "but I could pray for my country, and I know that God hears and answers prayer,—so that would be helping, wouldn't it, Papa?"

"Yes, my dear child; the Bible tells us a great deal about the power of prayer; 'Call upon Me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me,' is one of its promises."

"Yes," said Grandma Elsie, "a cry to God, the Ruler of the universe, for help, may accomplish more than any effort on the part of man to do for himself."

"But people must help themselves too, Mamma?" Walter said, half in assertion, half inquiringly.

"Yes, my son, if they can; 'Faith without works is dead,' the Apostle says. The right way is to do all we can to help ourselves, at the same time asking God's blessing upon our efforts."

"As General Washington did," remarked Mr. Keith. "He was a man of both works and prayer,—a blessing to his country, and to the world; in my estimation the greatest mere man that ever lived. 'First in peace, first in war, first in the hearts of his countrymen.'"

"Yes," assented Grandma Elsie, "I like the toast given by some one,—I have forgotten who it was,—'Washington: Providence left him childless that his country might call him father.' He seems to me to have been as nearly perfect as one of the sinful race of man could be!"

"Yes," responded Captain Raymond; "thoroughly unselfish, just, generous, modest, self-denying and self-sacrificing, charitable to the poor, forgiving, fearless and heroic; a God-fearing man who sought nothing for himself, but was ready to do or die for his country; true to her, to his friends, to his God; a sincere and earnest Christian,—where can a more noble character be found?"

"I think," said Mrs. Travilla, "he was an instrument raised up and prepared of God for the work that he did in securing to our beloved country the liberties she now enjoys."

"I very much like what Lord Brougham says of him," remarked Violet.

"Oh, can you repeat it, Mamma Vi?" queried Lulu, eagerly.

"Yes, I think I can," returned Violet, who was blessed with an excellent memory.

"'It will be the duty of the historian and sage in all ages to let no occasion pass of commemorating this illustrious man; and until time shall be no more, will a test of the progress which our race has made in wisdom and virtue be derived from the veneration paid to the immortal name of Washington!'"

"I like that," said Rosie, her eyes sparkling with pleasure and enthusiasm, "and it's none the worse for having come from an Englishman."

"Not a bit," assented Keith.

"Mamma, was Washington commander at the battle of Bunker Hill?" asked Walter. "I ought to know; but I can't remember just now."

"No, my son," she answered, "it was fought before he reached Boston,—in fact, the very day, June 17, that Congress agreed to his commission as commander-in-chief of all the Continental forces raised, or to be raised; and on the 21st he set out on horseback from Philadelphia for Boston to take command of the American army encamped there,—or rather around it, the British being in possession of the town itself. News did not fly then as it does in these days, by any means; and it was not till he arrived in New York, on the 25th, that the tidings reached him.

"The next day he was in the saddle again, pushing on toward the scene of conflict. He reached Cambridge on the 2d of July, and the next day took command of the army, drawing his sword under an ancient elm."

"Why, just think!" exclaimed Walter, "it took him nearly two weeks to travel from Philadelphia to Boston, while now we could do it in less than two days. No wonder it took so long to fight the British and drive them out of our country!"

"I think we'd do it in less than half that time now," said Max. "We could move so much faster, besides raising a great deal bigger army; to say nothing of the navy, that I believe has done better in every one of our wars than the land forces. I remember to have read that the army Washington took command of then consisted of only seventeen thousand men, only fourteen thousand five hundred of them fit for duty; that they were without needed supplies of tents or clothing or as much as nine cartridges to a man."

"Yes; it's a wonder Washington wasn't completely discouraged," remarked Evelyn. "I think he surely would have been if he had not put his trust in God and the righteousness of our country's cause."

"No doubt it was that which strengthened him for the long and arduous struggle," said Mrs. Travilla. "Washington was, as I said a moment since, a man of prayer; he looked to God for help in the hour of his country's sorest need, and surely his prayers were heard and answered."

"Yes, Mamma," said Rosie; "I remember reading that he would go into the woods to pray privately for his bleeding country and his suffering soldiers; that some one happened to see him alone there in prayer with the tears coursing down his cheeks. Oh, it's no wonder that with such a leader and in so righteous a cause, our arms were victorious in spite of the fearful odds against us!"

"And it was God who gave us such a leader," responded her mother, "and gave him wisdom and courage for his work, and final success in carrying it on to the desired end."

"Wasn't he a member of the Continental Congress before his election as commander-in-chief of the armies?" asked Rosie.

"Yes," replied her mother. "So was Patrick Henry; and he, when asked whom he considered the greatest man in that body, replied, 'If you speak of eloquence, Mr. Rutledge, of South Carolina, is by far the greatest orator; but if you speak of solid information and sound judgment, Colonel Washington is unquestionably the greatest man on that floor.'"

"How long did Washington stay there close to Boston, Papa?" asked Gracie.

"He carried on the siege for eight months, then on the 17th of March, 1776, succeeded in driving the British away."

"Then did he take possession of the town and stay there awhile?"

"He stayed until April, then went to New York, reaching there on the 13th. Soon after he went to Philadelphia to confer with Congress, then back to New York.

"While he was there anxiously awaiting an attack from the British, the Declaration of Independence, just passed by Congress, was sent him. The troops were quickly paraded, and the Declaration read at the head of the army.

"In the orders of the day Washington said to the troops, 'The General hopes that this important event will serve as a fresh incentive to every officer and soldier to act with fidelity and courage, as knowing that the peace and safety of his country depend, under God, solely on the success of our arms.'

"But I cannot tell you now the whole story of Washington's services to his country in the war for independence, to say nothing of all that he did for her afterward."

"I think we will read about it after we go home to Woodburn," the Captain said.

"Frederick the Great was a great admirer of Washington," remarked Mr. Keith. "He is said to have pronounced Washington's masterly movements on the Delaware the most brilliant achievements recorded in military annals. And Lossing tells us of a portrait of himself which Frederick sent to Washington accompanied by the very gratifying words, 'From the oldest general in Europe to the greatest general in the world.' As for myself, I must say that I think Washington's success, in spite of all the difficulties and discouragements he had to encounter, was something most wonderful, and was given him in answer to prayer, and because he put his trust in God and looked to Him for wisdom and for help."

"He was certainly one of the most unselfish of men," remarked Violet. "What other man would have refused with scorn and indignation, as he did, the suggestion that his army would like to make him a king?"

"Oh, did they want to make him king, and tell him so?" asked Gracie.

"Yes; didn't you know that?" returned Lulu.

"Papa, won't you tell about it?" Grace asked, turning to her father.

"I will, daughter," he answered in a kindly, affectionate tone, and taking in his the hand she had laid upon his knee.

"The battle of Yorktown, which practically secured the independence of our country, was fought in October, 1781, but the treaty of peace was not signed till Jan. 20, 1783; so our armies were not disbanded, and officers and soldiers were sorely tried by their pay being delayed, and feared, not without reason, that they might be disbanded without Congress making proper provision for meeting their just claims.

"Some of the officers began to doubt the efficiency of the Government, and of all republican institutions, and talked among themselves as to whether it might not be better to establish a monarchy instead; and at length one of them was deputed to confer with Washington on the subject.

"He did so,—it seems in writing,—and even ventured to suggest for him the title of king.

"But, as you have just heard, Washington rebuked the writer severely, saying he was at a loss to conceive what part of his conduct could have given encouragement to an address that seemed to him big with the greatest mischiefs that could befall his country; that if he was not deceived in the knowledge of himself, they could not have found a person to whom their schemes were more disagreeable.

"He also conjured the writer, if he had any regard for his country, concern for himself or posterity, or respect for him, to banish these thoughts from his mind, and never communicate a sentiment of such a nature from himself or any one else."

"Did they give it up then, Papa?" Gracie asked.

"Nothing more was ever said about making Washington king," he answered; "but the next December they sent to Congress a memorial on the subject of their pay. A resolution was adopted by that body, but such as did not satisfy the complainants. Then a meeting of officers was arranged for; and anonymous addresses, commonly known as the Newburg addresses, were sent out to rouse the army to resentment.

"Washington insisted on attending the meeting, and delivered an impressive address.

"He had written down what he wished to say, and after reading the first paragraph paused to put on his spectacles, saying most touchingly, as he did so, that he had grown gray in the service of his country, and now found himself growing blind.

"He then went on to read a most noble paper which he had prepared for the occasion. In it he acknowledged the just claims of the army against the Government, and assured them that they would not be disregarded; then he entreated them 'to express their utmost horror and detestation of the man who wishes, under any specious pretences, to overturn the liberties of our country, and who wickedly attempts to open the floodgates of civil discord and deluge our rising empire in blood.'

"Then, having finished his address, he retired from the meeting; but resolutions were at once offered by General Knox, seconded by General Putnam and adopted by the meeting, agreeing with all he had said and reciprocating his expressions of esteem and affection. They were relieved of their doubts and fears and restored to their wonted love for their country."

"Oh, that was nice, Papa!" exclaimed Gracie, her cheeks flushing and her eyes shining. "How good and great our Washington was! It seems to me we would never have got free from Great Britain if we hadn't had him to help."

"Yes: it does seem very doubtful," her father replied. "As Grandma Elsie has said, God seems to have raised up and prepared him for that very work."

"And how soon after that was the war really over, Papa?"

"The treaty of peace was signed in Paris on the 20th of January, 1783, as I remarked a moment since; but as it took a long while in those days for people and news to cross the ocean, it was not till the 17th of the following April that Washington received the proclamation of Congress for the cessation of hostilities. Then on the 19th—which, as you may remember, was the eighth anniversary of the battle of Lexington, the opening conflict of the war—the cessation was proclaimed at the head of every regiment."

"What joyful news it must have been to the poor, weary soldiers!" said Violet. "I trust their hearts were full of gratitude to God, who had prospered the right in spite of the fearful odds against those who were battling for it."

"Yes," returned her husband; "and no heart could have been more thankful than that of the commander-in-chief, who said in the general orders, 'The chaplains of the several brigades will render thanks to Almighty God for all His mercies, particularly for His overruling the wrath of man to His own glory, and causing the rage of war to cease among the nations.'"

"What a good, good Christian man Washington was, Papa!" exclaimed Gracie.

"And yet he had enemies; and there are still some among his own countrymen who are far from appreciating him,—can even speak evil of him. But even our Lord Jesus Christ had enemies and detractors—bitter and implacable foes—among his own countrymen; and 'the servant is not greater than his Lord,'" was the Captain's reply.

"Yes, Papa, I remember that Washington had enemies,—Gates for one, and that infamous Conway for another," said Max. "How glad I was to read of the Continental Congress accepting the resignation he offered in a fit of anger, so that he had to leave the army for good, though he didn't want to!"

"I think it was for good, Max," remarked Mr. Keith, with a slightly amused smile,—"for the good of the country, though perhaps not for his own. Conway was a man America was well rid of; and the same may be as truly said of Charles Lee. What would have become of our liberties had that infamous cabal succeeded in getting the command taken from Washington and given to any one of themselves!"

CHAPTER X.

Evelyn Leland was the only one of the party on the "Dolphin" who had never seen Boston; but to all the young people entering the city from the sea was a new experience, and as the vessel neared the harbour they gazed about them with great interest, while the Captain pointed out and named the forts and the islands as they came into view.

"Yonder is Boston Light," he said, "two miles east of Fort Warren,—on George's Island, which I will point out presently; it is a revolving light, ninety-two feet above the level of the sea. And yonder is Spit or Bug Light; it is only thirty-five feet high, and stands upon iron pillars fixed in the rock. They show a red fixed light there which can be seen at the distance of seven miles.

"Then there is Long Island Light, named from the island on which it stands. The tower is only twenty-two feet above the ground, but eighty feet above the sea.

"Yonder," again pointing with his finger, "is Fort Independence (called in Revolutionary times Castle William) just at the entrance of the main channel; and opposite it is Fort Winthrop. And yonder is George's Island with its fortification,—Fort Warren."

"And this was the harbour where the Boston Tea-party was held!" remarked Evelyn, in a half-musing tone. "What an exciting time that must have been! I think it was grand in the people to give up the tea they so enjoyed drinking, rather than submit to 'taxation without representation.'"

"Which all women possessed of landed property do to this day," returned Rosie, mischievously.

Eva laughed. "Oh, well," she said, "you know American women can influence the voters to whom they are related,—their brothers, husbands, and sons."

"If they have any, and they happen to be particularly tractable," laughed Rosie. "But how about poor fatherless and brotherless single women? The men may vote as heavy taxes upon their property as they please, while they can't lift a finger to prevent it, or say a word as to what is to be done with the money taken from their purses without their consent."

"Why, Rosie, are you turning into a woman's rights woman?" queried Max, laughing.

"I don't know, Maxie; those ideas just happened to suggest themselves," she answered. "I'll take time to think it all out one of these days, though; and I'll not promise not to turn into an advocate of women's right to have some say about the taxing of their own property. I see no reason why a man's rights in that direction should be considered superior to a woman's."

"No; nor I either," Max said. "And I'm as willing as possible that American women should have all their rights; but I shouldn't like to let ignorant women—foreign or coloured ones—vote."

"Yes, that's the trouble," laughed Rosie; "I shouldn't like that either. But I can't see that it's any better to let foreign men who are too ignorant to understand much or anything about our institutions, have a vote. I must say it strikes me as exceedingly insulting to educated, intelligent ladies, who are native Americans, to refuse a vote to them, and at the same time give it to such foreign-born men, or to male natives who know nothing, can't read or write, and have no property at all."

"Coloured men, for instance?" queried Max.

"Yes, coloured or white; it's the education I'm concerned about, not the colour. Mamma, do not you agree with me?"

"Yes, I do," Mrs. Travilla answered. "I have no desire to vote myself; but I think only native-born citizens, or those who have been twenty-one years in the country, should have a vote, and not even they unless able to read and write, capable of understanding our form of government, and possessed of some little property,—that last in order that they may appreciate more fully the burdens of taxation, and be less ready to make them heavier than need be."

"Papa," asked Gracie, "where abouts were the tea ships when the folks went on board and threw the tea into the water?"

"They were moored at Griffin's Wharf," he replied; "I can point it out to you directly."

"What is it, Papa, Gracie's talking about? A story?" queried little Elsie. "Please, Papa, tell it to us."