rly
love and pride in his boy; that came next after Violet's: then he opened
Lulu's bulky packet.

He sighed deeply as he laid it down after a careful perusal, during
which his face had grown stern and troubled, and, rising, paced the
cabin to and fro, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed on his
breast, which again and again heaved with a deep-drawn sigh.

"What I am to do with that child, I do not know," he groaned within
himself. "If I could make a home for her, and have her constantly with
me, I might perhaps be able to train her up aright, and help her to
learn the hard lesson how to rule her own spirit.

"I could not do that, however, without resigning from the service; and
that would be giving up my only means of earning a livelihood for her as
well as the others and myself. That is not to be thought of: nor could I
forsake the service without heartfelt regret, were I a millionnaire."

The captain was a man of prayer. Some moments were spent on his knees,
asking guidance and help for himself, and a change of heart for his
wayward little daughter; then, again seating himself at his
writing-table, he opened yet another letter, one whose superscription he
recognized as that of a business agent in one of our far Western States.

His face lighted up as he read, and a text flashed across his mind: "And
it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while
they are yet speaking, I will hear."

That sheet of paper was the bearer of most strange, unlooked-for
tidings: a tract of wild land, bought by him for a trifle years before,
and long considered of little or no value, had suddenly become--by the
discovery that it contained rich mineral deposits, and the consequent
opening of mines, and laying out of a town upon it--worth many
thousands, perhaps millions of money.

And he--Capt. Raymond--was the undisputed owner of it all,--of wealth
beyond his wildest dreams. He could scarce believe it: it seemed
impossible. Yet it was undoubtedly true; and a bright vision of a lovely
home, with wife and children about him, rose up before his mind's eye,
and filled him with joy and gratitude to the Giver of all good.

He would send in his resignation, and realize the vision at the earliest
possible moment.

But stay! could he now, in the prime of life, forsake the service for
which he had been educated, and to which he had already given many of
his best years? Could he be content to bid a final farewell t