He seemed to see the Dolphin steaming down the bay, his father, perhaps, sitting in the saloon with the other grown folks (the younger ones would be pretty sure to have retired to their state-rooms), and thinking and speaking of his absent son.  Or, it might be, pacing the deck alone, his heart going up in prayer to God for his first-born—­his “might and the beginning of his strength,”—­that he might be kept from sin and every danger and evil and enabled to prove himself a brave, true follower of Christ, never ashamed or afraid to show his colors and let it be known to all with whom he had to do that he was a disciple, a servant of the dear Lord Jesus.

“Lord, help me; help me to be brave and faithful and true,” was the silent petition that went up from the boy’s heart.

“Homesick, bub?” asked a boyish voice, in mocking tones.  “I believe most of the fellows are just at the first, but they get over it after a bit without much doctoring.”

“I’m inclined to think it is not a dangerous kind of ailment,” returned Max, in a pleasant tone, lifting his head and turning toward his companion with a smile that seemed rather forced.  “However, I was thinking not of home, exactly, but the homefolks who are just at present aboard my father’s yacht and steaming down the bay.”

It was only by a great effort he repressed a sigh with the concluding words.

“That’s a handsome yacht and about the largest I ever saw,” was the next remark of his room-mate, a lad—­Benjamin Hunt by name—­of about the same age as himself, not particularly handsome but with a good, honest face.

“Yes, and a splendid sailor,” returned Max, with enthusiasm.  “Papa bought her this summer and we’ve had a jolly good time sailing or steaming (sometimes one and again the other, the Dolphin has both sails and engines) along the coast and a short distance out to sea.”

“Had a good, safe captain?” Hunt asked, with a quizzical smile.

“My father, a retired naval officer; there could be none better,” returned Max, straightening himself slightly, while the color deepened on his cheek.

“Yes; I don’t wonder you are proud of him,” laughed Hunt.  “I happened to see him when he brought you here, and I must say I thought he had a fine military bearing and was—­well, I think I might say one of the handsomest men I ever saw.”

“Thank you,” said Max heartily, glancing up at Hunt with a gratified smile.  “I suppose being so fond of him I may not be a competent judge, but to me my father seems the best, the noblest, and the handsomest man that ever lived.”

“Didn’t force you to come here against your will, eh?” queried Hunt jestingly.

“No, indeed! he only let me come because I wanted to.  I think he would have been glad if I had chosen the ministry, but you see I don’t think I have any talent in that line, and I inherit a love for the sea, and papa says a man can do best in the profession or business that is most to his taste, so that perhaps I may be more useful as a naval officer than I could be in the ministry.”