ere
nobody lived," blubbered Noddy.

"Who is this little girl with you? Is this Mollie, of whom you spoke in
your letter?"

"Yes, Miss Bertha, that's Mollie; and she is the best girl in the world,
except yourself."

"I'm very glad to see you, Mollie," said Bertha, taking her hand, and
giving her a kind reception. "Now, come into the house."

Bertha, finding Noddy so completely overcome by his emotions, refrained
from asking him any more questions, though she was anxious to hear the
sad story of the shipwreck. Mr. Grant had not yet gone to the city, and
he received the returned exiles as though they had been his own
children.

"I've come back, Mr. Grant, to settle up old affairs, and you can send
me to the court-house or the prison now. I did wrong, and I am willing
to suffer for it."

"I have told them all about it, Noddy," interrupted Miss Fanny,
blushing. "I couldn't stand it after you went away."

"It was my fault," said Noddy. "I said so then, and I say so now."

"We won't say anything about that until after breakfast. We are very
glad you have come back; and we don't care about thinking of anything
else, at present," said Mr. Grant.

Breakfast was provided for the wanderer and his friend, and Mollie was
soon made quite at home by the kind attentions of Bertha and Fanny. When
the meal was ended, Noddy insisted upon "settling up old affairs," as he
called it. He declared that the blame ought to rest on him, and he was
willing to suffer. Mr. Grant said that he was satisfied. Fanny was to
blame, and she had already been severely punished for her fault.

"You will not send poor Noddy to prison--will you?" interposed Mollie.
"He is a good boy now. He saved my life, and took care of me for months.
You will find that he is not the same Noddy, he used to be. He is made
over new."

"I'm glad to hear that," replied Mr. Grant. "But Noddy, did you really
think I intended to send you to jail?"

"Yes, sir; what was the constable after me for, if not for that?"

"It's a mistake, and I told you so in Albany. Didn't I say you would be
a rich man?"

"You did, sir; but I thought that was only to catch me. All of them said
something of that sort. I knew I couldn't be a rich man, because my
father never had a cent to leave me. That's what they told me."

"But you had an uncle."

"Never heard of him," replied Noddy, bewildered at the prospect before
him.

"Your father's only brother died in California more than a y