rong with ye, lad?" the captain asked. "Why can't ye answer a
straight question?"

"Sit down, dad, and don't get excited," was the reply. "There, that's
better. There's something I want to tell you, and it's been on my mind
for weeks past, so it might as well be now as any other time. When I
left home I wrote to you quite often. But when I got away north, and
mixed up with a rough crowd, I somehow got out of the way of writing.
I was a long way from the post-office, and mails were very irregular,
which perhaps had something to do with my neglect. I struck it rich
there, dad, and made my pile, which, thank God, is now safe in the
bank. When I came 'outside,' it was to have, as I thought, a good
time. I did several of the big cities on the Pacific coast, and then
drifted to New York. I need not tell you of my life there, as it
wouldn't do any good. I had the money, and so there was no trouble
about seeing the seamy side of life. But one night, I don't know yet
how it happened, I drifted into a place to hear a famous singer. She
was great, and her voice, oh, dad, I wish you could have heard it. But
what got me was the closing piece. It was called, 'My Little Lad, God
Bless Him.' I can't begin to tell how that song affected me. It
seemed like the cry of a broken-hearted mother for her only boy, who
was away from her. In an instant I thought of mother and you, and when
I left the place that night I was all broken up. I tried to shake the
feeling off, but every night it came upon me stronger than ever.

"As the weeks went by I became very wretched. I saw what a brute I had
been, and how you at home must have suffered. The upshot of it was,
that I left New York, landed in St. John, got waylaid, was in the
hospital unconscious for a long time, unknown to all. When I got out,
I took the evening train, intending to hire a team at Greenside to
drive me home. I couldn't get any one to bring me at that time of the
night, and so I began to foot it. When the storm overtook me I fought
hard, but I was very weak, and--oh, well, you know the rest."

When Jimmy was through, the captain sat for some time without saying a
word. He looked straight before him, as if watching the ice, and
wondering when it would go out. But he saw nothing there, for his mind
was upon more important things.

"Jimmy," he at last remarked, "this is all His doin's. I kin see that
now. He has protected you, and brought ye back to us."