ss of
all that impeded her way.

Down the plank, out upon the boards of the board dock, into the medley
of stages and yelling drivers she hurried, very much as James Barlow and
Montmorency Stark had done at that other, upper landing. But when she
felt the solid quay beneath her feet she paused, clapped her hands to
her dizzy head and--felt herself grasped in a wild and fierce embrace.

Then both upon that dock and the deck of the outgoing steamer rang a
shout of merriment, which made anger take the place of fear as she
whirled about in the arms of whoever held her and shook her fist at the
boat and its passengers.

"Well! That was a short trip but it was full of incident!" remarked one
passenger, near to Molly and Dorothy. They had run to the rail to see
what followed Alfy's disappearance, and if she were carried away
injured. "I saw her come aboard and depart and she managed to get a deal
of action into those few minutes. Friend of yours, young ladies?"

They faced about, wondering why this man should speak to them. He looked
like a gentleman though a rather shabby one. Montmorency would have
termed him "seedy." His coat had seen better days and his hat, lying on
the bench beside him, was worn and discolored, and his thin white hair
told that he, also, was old. This made the girls regard him kindly, for
both of them had a reverence for age.

More than that, a crutch rested against his knee and this made an
instant appeal to Dorothy's sympathy. She had seen nobody with a crutch
since she had said farewell to Father John; and now in pity for this
other cripple she lingered near answering his many questions most
politely.

"Yes, she is a friend. She--I guess she ran away to sail a short
distance with us. We shan't see each other again this summer. She forgot
her money. I mean she didn't have any to forget; and--Sir? What did you
ask me to find?"

"To buy a morning paper for me, my dear. You see, being lame--Did you
ever know anybody who was lame?" asked the old man, with a smile.

"Ah! yes. The dearest man in all the world; my father."

Thereupon Dorothy huddled down beside the stranger and gave a history
of her father's illness, his wonderful patience, and the last effort he
was making to regain his health.

She did not know that it is often unsafe to talk with unknown people
upon a journey; and in any case she would not have feared such a
benignant old gentleman as this. She ended her talk with the inquiry: