At last after many weary days at sea, there came the joyful news that land was in sight; and next morning, when the children awoke, the motion of the vessel had ceased, and Boston, with its numerous domes and spires, was before them.  Towards noon a pleasant-looking, middle-aged man came on board, inquiring for George Moreland, and announcing himself as Mr. Selden.  George immediately stepped forward, and after greeting his uncle, introduced Mr. and Mrs. Howard, speaking at the same time of their kindness to him during his illness.

All was now confusion, but in the hurry and bustle of going ashore, George did not forget Mary.  Taking her aside, he threw round her neck a small golden chain, to which was attached a locket containing a miniature likeness of himself painted a year before.

“Keep it,” said he, “to remember me by, or if you get tired of it, give it to Ella for a plaything.”

“I wish I had one for you,” said Mary; and George replied, “Never mind, I can remember your looks without a likeness.  I’ve only to shut my eyes, and a little forlorn, sallow-faced, old-looking girl, with crooked teeth—­”

He was prevented from finishing his speech by a low cry from Mary, who, pressing his hands in hers, looked beseechingly in his face, and said, “Oh, don’t, George!—­don’t talk so.”

He had not teased her about her looks for a long time, and now just as he was leaving her, ’twas more than she could bear.  Instantly regretting his thoughtless words, George took her in his arms, and wiping away her tears, said, “Forgive me, Mary.  I don’t know what made me say so, for I do love you dearly, and always will.  You have been kind to me, and I shall remember it, and some time, perhaps, repay it.”  Then putting her down, and bidding adieu to Mr. and Mrs. Howard, Frank, and Ella, he sprang into his uncle’s carriage, and was rapidly driven away.

Mary looked after him as long as the heads of the white horses were in sight, and then taking Frank’s hand, followed her parents to the hotel, where for a few days they had determined to stop while Mrs. Howard made inquiries for her sister.

Meantime, from the richly curtained windows of a large handsome building a little girl looked out, impatiently waiting her father’s return, wondering why he was gone so long and if she should like her cousin George, or whether he was a bearish looking fellow, with warty hands, who would tease her pet kitten and ink the faces of her doll babies.  In the centre of the room the dinner table was standing, and Ida Selden had twice changed the location of her cousin’s plate, once placing it at her side, and lastly putting it directly in front, so she could have a fair view of his face.

“Why don’t they come?” she had said for the twentieth time, when the sound of carriage wheels in the yard below made her start up, and running down stairs, she was soon shaking the hands of her cousin, whom she decided to be handsome, though she felt puzzled to know whether her kitten and dolls were in any immediate danger or not!