The little stranger was soon given free papers, formally adopted, and baptized under the Christian name of Hester Plunkett; and from her twenty-first birthday had always received wages for her services.

Her love for the family, especially Miss Prue, almost the only survivor of this especial branch, was simply unbounded; and nothing could have tempted her to leave the latter.

Even as she made the simple announcement, her great, soft black eyes rested lovingly on her friend and mistress, then turned, with a smiling welcome, upon the children.

"I'll tend the baby ef he wakes, Miss Sairay; let me lay him down now,"

she said, lifting him with her powerful black hands; "he likes his old Aunt Hester!" and she nestled him against her broad bosom, and bent her stately white-turbaned head caressingly over him.

Molly, who was always fascinated by her, watched every movement, her eyes dancing, and her checks dimpling with some inner thought.

"Come, what are you sparkling over now?" cried Miss Prue, taking the child's hand to lead her to the dining-room. "I know you've an idea in that little brain of yours, because it's almost ready to jump out of your eye-windows!" Molly gave a little hop--she seldom walked--and caught the aged hand in both of hers. "I'll tell you, Miss Plunkett, but you musn't tell anybody, will you?"

"I'll try to keep it a secret, Molly."

"Well, what do you s'pose Hester looks like?"

"Now, Molly! You wouldn't make fun of good old Hester, would you?"

"But I'm not making fun, Miss Prue, indeed and indeedy I'm not, only she _does!_"

"Well, like what, Molly?"

By this time they had reached the dining-room, and Molly drew her behind its door, to whisper mysteriously,--

"She looks just like Rocky Point when there's a high wind. Then the rock stands up there black and big and square, just as Hester does; and her muslin turban is the spray up over the top of it, don't you see?"

Miss Prue nodded comprehensively, for the resemblance of the tall, straight negress to that bold headland was something she could recognize herself, now it was brought to her notice.

"I think you're right, dear; but come, our supper is waiting. Pray excuse me, Sara, for keeping you and Morton standing here; this little lady-bird and I have been exchanging confidences behind the door!"

What a supper it was! Well worth waiting for, Morton thought, for the queer foreign-spiced preserves and the hot pickles (which made Molly wink tearful eyes rapidly, and say, "No more, thank you, ma'am!" with great promptness) were all there; besides dainty cakes, such as only Hester could make, and tea that was to the common beverage as nectar to vinegar.

Once Molly paused, inspecting a small cream-cake in her hand with a grave air.

"What is it, dear? What are you thinking?" asked Miss Prue, to whom the child was always a whole page of fun and epigram.

"I was thinking, ma'am, how does this froth get inside the cake?"

"Molly, Molly! You are too curious," said her sister.

But now an idea suddenly struck the child, rippling and dimpling over her bright face like a breeze over a little lake.

"Oh, I know!" she cried, "I know! You just churn the cream, and then pour the dough around it, of course!" which lucid explanation seemed perfectly satisfactory to herself at any rate.

All the stiffness of that first half-hour was now gone, and the rest of the stay was one riotous frolic, in which baby Ned, sweetened by a long nap and a good supper in Sara's arms, joined merrily; and, as Miss Prue watched the little party leave her gate in the late dusk, it was through misty eyes, for she could not help thinking of the home she might have known, had not the sea claimed her husband for its own.

After this happy day came a few that were anxious enough to poor Sara; for the little h.o.a.rd was getting fearfully low, and now, too, the provisions were nearly gone.

"I'm afraid, Morton," she said one morning, "if we don't hear something from father this week, I'll have to borrow of Squire Scrantoun."

Molly's nose went up.

"I don't like him; he's a scowly man! Let's borrow of Uncle Adam or Miss Prue."

"But old Adam Standish is nearly as poor as we, Molly."

"No, he ain't," with a toss of her head; "he's got a heap of money! He keeps it in an old shot-bag, and I've seen it myself; he's got--well, as much as five dollars, I do believe!"

As this magnificent sum did not impress Sara so much as it should, the child concluded to drop finances for a while and attend to baby, who was busily engaged just then in pulling straws out of the broom, a loss the well-used article could ill afford.

Sara stepped past the two at their frolic and looked out of the open door.

It was a glorious morning, the air washed clean by a thunder-storm during the night, and the sea still white-capped from its violence.

As she was watching with admiration its turbulent beauty, Morton, who had come to her side, burst out,--

"Why, Sara, look in the offing, isn't that the Seagull at anchor? Why, it is, it must be! Then j.a.p Norris is here, and can tell us about father!"

"Are you sure, Morton? I can't make her out from here.'

"Well, I can! I know the old Sea-gull like a book; and look! look, Sara, if that isn't j.a.p this minute coming down the street!"

Sara looked, recognizing the straight young figure at once, and turned back to her brother with a quick pang of foreboding that slightly paled her sweet face.

"Morton," she said huskily, "he brings us news of father!"

CHAPTER VIII.

NEWS FROM THE NAUTILUS.

When the fleet to which the Nautilus belonged reached the Banks, everything seemed exceptionally propitious. The weather was fine and tranquil for March, and the fish fairly asking to be taken. In fact, it was all "too lucky," as old Captain Sennett of the Nautilus growled occasionally, he being, like all sailors, superst.i.tious to the core, and "fond of his blow," as the crew put it.

They made a "big haul," with which they put into port, and after disposing of it started out again, only to make a trip as disastrous as the former had been fortunate. There was a week of the "dirtiest" kind of weather,--head-winds, fogs, and treacherous "breezes," which strained every timber in the old tub of a Nautilus, as she rolled clumsily about in the turbulent waves.

At length there came a night (it was one of those in which Sara had watched with baby during the measles) when the sea, as if scorning all previous performances, seemed lashing itself into a very climax of rage.

s.m.u.tty rags of clouds flew across the ominous horizon, and spiteful gusts, apparently from every direction of the compa.s.s, caught the old Nautilus in wild arms, and tossed her about like a foot-ball.

She had sprung a slight leak also, nothing dangerous in a stanch vessel, but an added straw, which might prove the last in this straining wrestle with wind and sea, and she did not answer her rudder as her steersman could have wished.

"Will she stan' it, cap'n, think ee?" asked Reuben anxiously, as a momentary pause in the pounding and smashing found them together.

"G.o.d A'mighty knows!" was the solemn answer. "If her rudder"--

The rest was drowned in a new shriek of the blast, and Reuben threw himself flat and clung for dear life to the winch, as a wave washed over the deck, smashing everything breakable into kindling-wood, and almost drowning the two, whom instinct and long practice helped to cling, in spite of the fact that the very breath was beaten out of their bodies.