being, before she was sold, a useful
machine for sewing on buttons, making tea, reading the papers aloud,
fetching hats and sticks and slippers, etcetera. There had, however,
been a slight drawback--a sort of temporary loss--on this concern at
first, for the piece of goods became damaged, owing to her mother's
death having weighed heavily on a sensitive and loving spirit, which
found no comfort or sympathy at home, save in the devoted affection of
an old nurse named Niven. When Annie reached the age of six years, the
doctors ordered change of air, and recommended a voyage to the West
Indies. Their advice was followed. Nothing was easier. Mr Webster
had many ships on the sea. These were of two classes. The first class
consisted of good, new, well found and manned ships, with valuable
cargoes on board which were anxiously watched and longed for; the second
class comprised those which were old, worn-out, and unseaworthy, and
which, being insured beyond their value, might go to the bottom when
they pleased.

One of the best of the first class was selected--the _Water Lily_, A1 on
Lloyd's--and in it Annie, with her nurse, was sent to sea for the
benefit of her health. The parting was a somewhat important event in
Mr Webster's life, for it convinced him, to his own surprise, that his
power to love a human being was not yet utterly gone! Annie's arms
clasped convulsively round his neck at the moment of parting--her
sobbing "Good-bye, darling papa," had stirred depths which had lain
unmoved almost from the days of early manhood. But the memory of this
passed away as soon as he turned again to gaze upon the loved
countenance of his yellow mistress.

The voyage did Annie much good. The short residence in Demerara, while
the vessel was discharging cargo and reloading, wrought wonders, and a
letter, forwarded by a ship that sailed a short time after their arrival
in "foreign parts," told Mr Webster that he might expect to see his
daughter home again, sound and well, in a month or two at the farthest.

But, to return from this digression to the abode of Mr Webster's
soul:--

Having looked at the portrait of his late wife's father for a moment and
smiled, he glanced at the letter in his hand and frowned. Not because
he was displeased, but because the writing was cramped and difficult to
read. However, the merchant was accustomed to receive such letters from
seafaring men on many subjects of interest; he therefore bro