if he had objected to the
fulfilment of his chief earthly desire. Tim Rokens did not groan when
he heard of the proposal--by no means; on the contrary, he roared, and
laughed, and shouted with delight, and went straight off to tell Phil
Briant, who roared a duet with him, and they both agreed that it "wos
the most gloriously nat'ral thing they ever did know since they wos
launched upon the sea of time!"

So Glynn Proctor and Ailie Dunning were married, and lived long, and
happily, and usefully at Whale Brae. Captain Dunning lived with them
until he was so old that Ailie's eldest daughter (also named Ailie) had
to lead him from his bedroom each morning to breakfast, and light his
pipe for him when he had finished. And Ailie the second performed her
duties well, and made the old man happy--happier than he could find
words to express--for Ailie the second was like her mother in all
things, and greater praise than that could not possibly be awarded to
her.

The affairs of the cottage with the yellow face and the green door were
kept in good order for many years by one of Ailie the second's little
sisters--Martha by name; and there was much traffic and intercourse
between that ancient building and the Red Eric, as long as the two aunts
lived, which was a very long time indeed. Its green door was, during
that time, almost battered off its hinges by successive juvenile members
of the Proctor family. And truly deep and heartfelt was the mourning at
Whale Brae when the amiable sisters were taken away at last.

As for Tim Rokens, that ancient mariner became the idol of the young
Proctors, as they successively came to be old enough to know his worth.
The number of ships and boats he made for the boys among them was
absolutely fabulous. Equal, perhaps, to about a twentieth part of the
number of pipes of tobacco he smoked during his residence there, and
about double the number of stories told them by Phil Briant during the
same period.

King Bumble lived with the family until his woolly head became as white
as his face was black; and Jacko--poor little Jacko--lived so long, that
he became big, but he did not become less amiable, or less addicted to
thieving. He turned grey at last and became as blind as a bat, and
finally crawled about the house, enfeebled by old age, and wrapped in a
flannel dressing-gown.

Sorrows and joys are the lot of all; they chase each other across the
sky of human life like cloud and sunshine o