And then Launcelot gave a shout that woke Tommy.
“It’s, oh, who do you think it is, Judy Jameson?”
And Judy whispered with a white face, “It looks like—my father. Is it really—my father—Launcelot?” and Launcelot let the tiller go, and caught hold of her hands, and said: “It really is, it really and truly is, Judy Jameson.”
Judy never knew how the boat reached the wharf, nor how she came to be in her father’s arms. But she knew that she should never be happier this side of heaven than she was when he held her close and murmured in her ear, “My own daughter, my own dear little girl.”
It was an excited group that circled around them—Perkins and Launcelot, and the dog, Terry, and last but not least, Anne, red-eyed and dishevelled.
“Oh, Judy, Judy,” she sobbed, when at last Judy came down to earth and beamed on her. “We thought you were drowned, and I have cried all night.”
And at that Judy cried, too, and they sat down on the sand and had a little weep together, comfortably, as girls will, when the danger is over and every one is safe and happy.
“I’m all right,” gasped Judy at last, mopping her eyes with a clean handkerchief, offered her by the ever-useful Perkins. “I’m all right—but—but—Anne was such a goosie,—and I am so happy—” And with that she dropped her head on Anne’s shoulder again and cried harder than ever.
“Dear heart, don’t cry,” begged the Captain.
“She is tired to death,” explained Launcelot.
“She needs her breakfast, sir,” suggested Perkins.
“So do I,” grumbled Tommy Tolliver, who stood in the background feeling very much left out.
But even as they spoke, Judy slipped into her father’s arms again, and lay there quietly, as she murmured, so that no one else heard:
“’Home is the sailor from the sea’—oh, father, father, I knew you would come back to me—I knew you would come back some day.”
LAUNCELOT BUYS A COW
Never had Fairfax seen so many interesting arrivals as during that second week in August.
On Monday came Dr. Grennell, mysterious and smiling; on Tuesday, Judge Jameson, pale but radiant; on Wednesday, Tommy and Launcelot, bursting with important news; on Thursday, Captain Jameson, with a joyful dark maiden on one side of him, and a joyful fair maiden on the other; on Friday, Perkins, beaming with the baggage, and on Saturday, the Terry-dog, resignedly, in a crate.
And every one, except Terry, the dog, had a story to tell, and the story was one that was to become a classic in the annals of Fairfax. How Captain Jameson had been washed overboard in southern seas, how he had been rescued by natives and had lived among them; how he had been found by a party searching for gold; how he had started with them for home, had become ill as soon as they put to sea, and because of his illness had been the only one left when the ship caught on fire; how the fire had gone out, and he had floated on the deserted vessel until picked up by a fishing-boat, and how he had been brought to Newfoundland and how Dr. Grennell had discovered him by means of the Spanish coins.