er into white foam, and the boat
moved slowly out of the harbour.

The Twins and their Father and Mother, with Grannie and Michael, stood
by the rail for a long time, and watched the crowd on the pier until it
grew smaller and smaller, and at last disappeared entirely from sight
around a bend in the Channel.

They stood there until the lighter reached the great ship that was
waiting to take them across the water to a new world.

And when at last they were safely on board, and the lighters had gone
back empty into the harbour, they stood on the wide deck of the ship,
with their faces turned toward Ireland, until all they could see of it
in the gathering dusk was a strip of dark blue against the eastern sky,
with little lights in cottage windows twinkling from it like tiny stars.

Then they turned their faces toward the bright western sky.

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Note 1. Copyright of this poem by Herbert Trench, held by John Lane.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

TWENTY YEARS AFTER.

In the middle of one of the busiest crossings in Chicago, there stands a
big man in a blue uniform. His eyes are blue, and there are wrinkles in
the corners of them, the marks of many smiles.

On his head is a blue cap, and under the edge of the cap you catch a
glimpse of dark hair. There are bands of gold braid on his sleeve, and
on his breast is a large silver star.

He is King of the Crossing. When he blows his whistle, all the
street-cars and automobiles and carriages--even if it were the carriage
of the Mayor himself--stop stock-still. Then he waves his white-gloved
hands and the stream of people pours across the street.

If there is a very small boy among them, the King of the Crossing
sometimes lays a big hand on his shoulder and goes with him to the curb.
And he has been known to carry a small girl across on his shoulder and
set her safely down on the other side.

When the people are all across, he goes back to the middle of the street
once more, and blows twice on his little whistle.

Then all the wheels that have been standing as still as if they had gone
to sleep suddenly wake up, and go rolling down the street, while those
that have just been turning stop and wait while the big man helps more
people over the crossing the other way.

All day long the King of the Crossing stands there, blowing his whistle,
waving his white-gloved hands, and turning the stream of people