“He’ve been up three nights a-savin’ Dick Will’s arm, as means the livin’ o’ he and the woman an’ seven young ’uns.  I mistrust he’ll maybe fall asleep a-walkin’ less he hurries.  ‘Tis a feelin’ I knows, keepin’ long watches on deck when things goes hard.”

“But I can watch my father,” I protested.

“So yer could, fer a fact,” he admitted, “but yer couldn’t run out handy an’ fetch doctor, so I might as well stay here an’ ye kin do a job of sleepin’.”

As he hurried out Susie came in from the kitchen, buxom and rosy of cheek.

“Th’ kittle’s biled ef you is ready,” she announced.  “Yer must be a-perishin’ fer a sup an’ a bite.”

I shall have to stop now, Aunt Jennie dear, and goodness knows when this will reach you, as mails are very movable feasts.

But it has been a comfort to write, and I was too nervous and excited to go to sleep, for a long time.  I really think I ought to go to bed now.  That doctor is really a very nice young man, and I just love Mrs. Barnett.  Any one would.

Please write as often as possible, for now we are prisoners for goodness knows how long in this place, and your letters will be worth their weight in precious stones.  Tell me all that is happening.  Have you heard from Harry Lawrence lately?

Your loving
HELEN.

CHAPTER V

From John Grant’s Diary

When I awoke this morning, I was inclined to pinch myself, wondering whether I was still dreaming.  In a moment, however, my recollections were perfectly clear.  Yesterday evening I met people such as I should no more have expected to find in Sweetapple Cove than in the mountains of the moon.  I am glad that my idea in coming here was not to convert myself into a hermit; I am afraid I should have been sadly disappointed.  Mr. Jelliffe is a man just beyond middle age, shrewd and inclined to good nature.  His daughter, like the rest of her sex, is probably a problem, but so far I can only discover in her an exceedingly nice young lady who dotes on her father and takes rather a sensible view of things.

It appears that they have been all over the world and, like experienced travelers, understand exceedingly well the art of adapting oneself to all manners of surroundings.  In no time at all they had transformed their ugly little house into quite a decent dwelling.

Miss Jelliffe is a decidedly attractive young woman.  Of course I can only compare her with Dora Maclennon.  They belong to two different types.  The one is a bustling little woman, very earnest, determined and hard-working, who looks to the world for something which must as yet be rather indefinitely shaped in her mind, and who is going to find it.  The other, I should say, has no cut and dried aim or ambition.  Her father or grandfather achieved everything for her, and she is as free as air to follow her every inclination.  Both are unquestionably good to look