s it were, in one direction, her position always suspense, always
uncertainty, always waiting and watching, and dreading what news might
come at last?

George Paterson was a ship's carpenter, and well known along the coast
and on the quay. He had made every inquiry, but could not get any
direct tidings of Jack.

Several ships had sailed early that fine morning--the _Galatea_, for
Constantinople; the _Siren_, for a Norwegian port; the _Mermaid_, for
Genoa; but no one had any recollection of noticing a boy go aboard.
Indeed, there were but few people who could have seen him, for few were
stirring at that early hour, except those who were obliged to be at
their post at sea or on shore, and they were probably too much
engrossed with their own concerns to heed him, even if he had been seen.

Patience had borne up bravely under this last sorrow. In some ways
Jack's absence was a relief--she had been always treading, as it were,
on the edge of a volcano, that might send up fire and smoke at any time.

We all know what a strain it is upon body and mind to be always seeking
for peace, while those around us make themselves ready for battle; and
the terror at every meal that there would be a scene between Jack and
his aunt, with the effort to prevent it, had been a perpetual strain
upon Mrs. Harrison. At least that fear and dread were taken from her,
and her heart said--

"If only I knew he was well and happy I should be glad to know that he
was gone away from so much that jarred and fretted him; but it is the
silence and the terrible suspicion they raise that he was a thief that
overwhelms me sometimes."

As these thoughts were passing through Mrs. Harrison's mind George
Paterson came up; he had been watching her and the children for some
minutes, and the sympathy for the poor deserted wife and mother filled
his honest blue eyes with tears.

All the gay people about her--the singing of a large party which filled
one of the pleasure-boats, the bustle and activity everywhere--seemed
to force upon George Paterson the painful contrast between the glad and
happy and the sad and deeply-tried woman, whom he loved better than
anything in the wide world. Oh that she would let him comfort her,
take her to a pleasant home on the Gorlestone Road, with a garden full
of flowers, and where peace and plenty reigned!

But George loved Patience too well to weary her with importunity. He
would never add a straw's weight to her care by