Mr. Aylett, being the brother of a rich squire, had powerful friends, and he had done all in his power to find out news of Harry; but in those days news travelled but slowly; and though much was guessed, the truth had never been exactly ascertained.

At this moment Mr. Aylett was seen by the worthy Fenns to be walking towards the farm, and very soon he was sitting by the sad-looking yeoman in the great farm-hall, beginning as usual to talk of Harry.

'I've told the men I'll have naught to do with a harvest-home,' said Mr.

Fenn, decidedly. 'I'll give them money for the feast, and they may go and dance their round reels on the green; but, now my poor boy is dead, I care not for sounds of music, and joy does but make me dizzy.'

'And yet the Bible tells us to "rejoice always," good neighbour,' said Mr. Aylett. 'Is it right to deprive others of joy when G.o.d has taken ours from us? Is not this somewhat selfish grief, and displeasing to G.o.d?'

'It is my whim, Mr. Aylett. I cannot feel like Job, for when I see the lads a-merrymaking I think of my poor Harry's goodly countenance, and my heart seems like to break.'

'The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away,' said Mrs. Fenn gently--'so I tell Mr. Fenn; but such an ado I have to be a-comforting him that sometimes I forget my own sore grief. It's a wonder I ever lived through that time; and now when I sit in a quiet coigne I fancy I'm another woman and in truth not Harry's mother. At this harvest-time I think of the new doublet I had always ready for him, and how handsome he looked. Lack-a-day!'

'Tut, tut, woman!' said her husband, who liked to think his grief was the greatest, 'the lad was more to me than to thee. You know how he would follow me about when he could but just toddle. Ay, ay, Mr.

Aylett, you too know what he was like. It was a sight to see him riding about the farm; and now there's no one of my name as will inherit this place. And as for my cousin who has an eye to the place, i' faith he's but a poor creature--ay, a paltry a.s.s.'

'The Lord can bring back your boy,' said the clergyman, with a quiet a.s.surance that appeared to be galling to the yeoman.

'I said naught to the contrary, Mr. Aylett; but there's a sight of things that the Lord could do as never happen in this world; and my boy's dead--I know it; and meseems, in truth, it's folly thinking on it longer.'

''Tis much lacking in faith, good Mr. Fenn, that you are. For my part, I believe Harry will come home, and----' But here the keener-witted mother started up and called out:

'Mr. Aylett's heard news of Harry! Speak out, sir, or this old heart will break; for my head feels dizzy. Speak out, sir, for G.o.d's sake!'

And Mr. Aylett now saw that he had sufficiently prepared the old people for the joy that he had to tell them, and, standing up reverently, he said:

'Ay, ay, good friends, G.o.d's name be praised! Harry is safe and sound, and has a long and wonderful story to tell you.'

'But where is he--oh, my boy! my boy! You're not deceiving me, Mr.

Aylett, else G.o.d have mercy on you!'

'G.o.d forbid! Harry is in my house--brought here by a Captain Carew himself; and with him is come an English maid who was a fellow-prisoner in the West Indies. But I must tell no tales, and I bade him follow me anon--and, ay, look you, there he is, so I'll leave you to hear his own story, and go back to the maid, to whom my wife has taken a huge fancy already, for there is as much sunlight in her eyes as there is gold in our autumn corn; and, indeed, hers is as strange a history as you could find even in tales of our Chaucer.'

We must leave Harry to tell his own wonderful adventures, but Etta had already recounted to Mr. and Mrs. Aylett how Captain Carew had been kindness itself to the prisoners of Santa Teresa when he landed at St.

Catherine, and how he had taken all the party on board, and, after landing the new Governor at Jamaica, had gone to the island where Carlo and Harry Fenn had been left, helped to find it by the rude chart which Andreas had drawn. It can be easily understood how happy was the meeting, and how Dona Elena landed to see her brother's grave, and heard how he had died in Carlo's arms. Then, last, Captain Carew had taken them all on board again, and had landed the Spaniards in Spain, and Etta had been comforted at the loss of Felipa by Carlo's saying that she must come some day as an honoured guest to his home; that when he was a man he would travel to England, as he meant to be a Spanish Amba.s.sador at the Court of King Charles. Then how excited she had been when she first beheld the sh.o.r.es of England, and knew that she was indeed no longer a prisoner, but a free English girl. Captain Carew, having relations of his own near South Benfleet, had himself taken the young people to Mr.

Aylett, as Harry, now thoughtful beyond his years, knew that his sudden reappearance at home might cause too great a shock to his parents; besides, he thought Mr. Aylett could best judge what was to be done about finding Etta Allison's relations.

You can all imagine the joy of the homecoming; but I must add that there was a grand harvest-home that year at Pitsea Manor Farm, and such joy as never had been. What made it seem so wonderful to Harry was that Etta was there, dressed in a pretty gown of white _seme_; and that he led off the country dance with her; and that her sweet, brave face made the whole hall appear merry; for, as Mrs. Fenn said, 'all could see Etta was dancing a very Barley Bree o' mirth.'

Her uncle had been found, and had come over to see her; but, being an old bachelor, he was glad enough to pay a yearly sum to Mrs. Aylett, and to let her stay with that excellent lady; saying he should leave her all his money, and stipulating that she was to pay him yearly visits. No wonder Etta was happy as she danced with Harry, or told stories of the past.

Will you like to hear something more, and can you guess that when Harry Fenn married, his bride was Etta Allison? And Carlo del Campo was, in truth, present, as he had really joined the Emba.s.sy--though he was not yet Amba.s.sador--but he said at the wedding that he owed his success to Etta, who had taught him English. Poor Felipa died just before Carlo's journey. She had never recovered the effects of all the hardships and sorrows she had gone through; but before her death she sent some of her jewels to her dear Etta, and begged her not to forget her; which, as Etta's heart was big, she was not likely to do. You can imagine what talks they all had together; and perhaps the most wonderful piece of news that Harry told Don Carlo was that Captain Henry Morgan had now turned over a new leaf, and that the King had knighted him, and made him Governor of Jamaica; and that, wonderful to relate, he was now called Sir Henry Morgan, a brave and loyal gentleman. Truly it was a case of 'set a thief to catch a thief,' for the pirates were now no longer tolerated in Jamaica; and Sir Henry was said to be vastly clever at hunting them down.

Some years later, when there were happy children running about the old Pitsea farmhouse, there came a mysterious visitor to Benfleet. He gave no name, but wished to see Harry Fenn, who was now the owner of the farm; and when he was gone, Harry called his pretty wife Etta, who was all curiosity to know what the visitor wanted; and then he showed her a large bag, full of gold pieces--such a sum and such a glittering ma.s.s as Etta and Harry had never seen all at once before in their lives; and on a piece of parchment was written:

'For my G.o.dson Harry Fenn: a marriage portion for him and the little witch, albeit they were so ungrateful and unmindful of their well-wisher, Sir Henry Morgan.'

The gold pieces were of every nationality, and from every recognised mint; and some of them looked as if they had been kept many years in secret hiding-places known only to Sir Henry Morgan.

'This money,' said Harry, 'is, if I mistake not, gold that was stolen in Sir Henry Morgan's raids. What think you, sweetheart? I like not the colour of it; and these adventures brought me but one gold coin of true ring in it, and that was my own wee wife.'

'For shame, Harry,' laughed Etta, 'to liken me to gold, which the Bible calls the root of all evil! But why not give it to Mr. Aylett for the poor on Canvey Island? Thou knowest, dear Harry, that there are many in need there, round about the little Church of St. Catherine; and if it goes to the service of that church it will remind us of all our troubles on the other St. Catherine; and remind us, too, not to forget to be grateful to G.o.d for our past deliverance.'

'A right good thought, sweetheart! And what say you to putting up a stained gla.s.s window of St. Catherine herself? And beside the wheel we will place a cord in her hand, which will be in memory of the cruel knot of which you still bear the marks.'

'For shame, Harry! Nay, I was no saint. Why, if Captain Carew had not come in the nick of time, I should, perhaps, have told everything I knew. There, put up the gold pieces in their bag--I cannot abide the sight of them; but Mr. Aylett will say, I am sure, that G.o.d can, and He will, sanctify even stolen treasure.'

And so out of evil they brought forth good, as all can do who set their minds to it. But that evening, when Mr. Aylett, with much surprise, received the gold, he asked Harry, laughingly, if he were of the same mind as of old, and if he would still like to wander forth.

'If Etta would come too, I would not mind seeing those beautiful lands again,' he said. 'But, what with mother and the children, I know right well she will not travel again for many a long year.'

'Prithee, then, go alone, Harry, an it please you,' said his wife; and as Harry shook his head in a very determined fashion, Etta Fenn fell a-laughing softly, knowing well that her husband would never leave her for all the gold of the West Indies.

FINIS

NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG

PUBLISHED BY THE

NATIONAL SOCIETY

BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE

THE CROSS ROADS

A story of life in domestic service at Langhope Mead, with some amusing sketches of character both in the servants' hall and in the neighbouring village. The difficulties and troubles that beset Emmeline Osborne in keeping faithful to the promise she had made to her dead mother, and her final victory, will be found to form an excellent lesson for elder girls.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE ATELIER DU LYS"

NOT ONE OF US

Descriptive of the career of a young schoolmistress in Northern Italy, and of the manners and customs of the folk dwelling in the valley of Fiorasca. The lonely life of the Dutchwoman, Fransje, who has married Benedetto Balli, and the good deeds she does, form a touching picture that is full of pathos.