was more to blame than you; and
the loss ought to be mine."

"But----" insisted Frank.

"No buts! Besides, I never make bargains Sundays." And Seth turned away,
abruptly, leaving the watch in Frank's hand.

The boy would have called him back, but a rush of emotions--joy,
gratitude, contrition--choked his voice. A dash of tears fell upon the
watch as he gazed on it, and pressed it, and would have kissed it, had he
been alone. It was his again; and that, after all, was an unalloyed
satisfaction. He could lie awake nights and study days to devise means to
reward Seth's generosity. And he would do it, he resolved. And Mr. Sinjin
should know that he had recovered the prize, and that he held it all the
more precious since he had found out the giver.

XX.

SUNDAY BEFORE THE BATTLE.

Frank was leaning over the rail of the schooner gazing down at the
beautiful flashing water, and thinking of home. It was Sunday there, too,
he remembered; and he could almost hear the sweet-toned bells solemnly
chiming, and see the atmosphere of Sabbath peace brooding over field and
village, and feel the serious gladness of the time. The folks were
getting ready for church. There was his father, shaved and clean, in his
black stock and somewhat threadbare, but still respectable, best coat.
And there was Helen, bright and blooming, with her bonnet on, and with
her Bible and question-book in her hand, setting out for the morning
Sunday-school. His mother was not going to meeting; she was to stay at
home with Hattie, and read to her, or, what was better, comfort her with
affectionate, gentle, confiding words. But Willie was going with Helen,
as he seemed anxious, by strut, and hurry, and loud, impatient talk, to
let every body know. And Frank wished from his heart that he could be
with them that day; and he wondered, did they miss him, and were they
thinking of him, far off here in Carolina waters, alone in the midst of
such crowds of men?

"Wouldn't I like to be in that boat, boys!" said Ellis. "Don't she come
dancing on the waves!"

"She's pulling towards us," said Atwater. "I believe they're coming
aboard."

"O, Atwater!" cried Frank, as the boat drew near. "There's a face there I
know! One you know, too!" And he clapped his hands with joy; for it was a
face he had seen in Boston, and he felt that it came with news from home.

The rare brightness kindled in Atwater's eyes