, father," pleaded Charlie, as the two men jumped
into one of the boats and prepared to push off.

"No, no, Charlie, not this time," said his father; "remember you have
your lessons to learn; besides, I dare say you have not had your tea."

"Oh, I can learn my lessons when I come back, and I've got a large bun
here," he said, lifting up his jacket to show it; "uncle John bought it
for me as we came along. Please do let me go, it's so miserable now,
when you are away; I never like to go home, Mrs. Wood is so cross."

"Well, jump in then," said his father, with a sigh; he knew how the boy
missed his kind, gentle mother. She had been dead nearly six months, and
since then Charlie and he seemed to have been without a home. When his
wife died Morley Scott scarcely knew what to do for the best. He had no
relation who could take charge of Charlie and of his house, so he
thought it would be best to sell his furniture and go to lodgings. It
seems he had not been very fortunate in his choice, for according to
Charlie's account Mrs. Wood, the landlady, was often ill-tempered.

The two men took their oars, and began to pull in the direction of the
ship that was lying out some distance from the harbour. Charlie had
found himself a snug little corner in the stern of the boat, and was
enjoying himself thoroughly in a quiet way, catching at the bits of
floating seaweed and chips, spreading his fingers out like the arches
of a miniature bridge, and letting the water rush through them,
occasionally munching at his huge bun by way of variation.

For a wonder Charlie's busy tongue was still; he saw by his father's
countenance that he was not in a mood for talking. It wore a troubled,
saddened expression; he was living over the old sorrow that Charlie's
words had called up. His uncle, too, seemed in deep thought, and rowed
on in silence; although they were unconscious of it, perhaps, there is
no doubt that all three felt the influence of that beautiful calm summer
evening.

The rich hues of the setting sun were gradually fading out from the sky,
yet wonderful shades of crimson, rose colour, and gold, still lingered
lovingly amongst the clouds, and rested upon the waters. All the bustle
of the town had been left far behind; there was nothing to break the
silence but the measured plash of the oars, and the soft rippling and
murmuring of the water as the little boat rode lightly over the waves.

As Charlie gazed up at the glorious sky, h