aned, looked seaward, and the moan of
the sea and the pipe of the wind sounded there night and day. Paul had
many rare shells and seaweeds, curious flotsam and jetsam of shore
storms, and he had a small shelf full of books.

"They're splendid," he said enthusiastically. "Stephen brought me them
all. Every time Stephen goes to town to ship his mackerel he brings me
home a new book."

"Were you ever in town yourself?" asked Miss Trevor.

"Oh, yes, twice. Stephen took me. It was a wonderful place. I tell
you, when I next met the Twin Sailors it was me did the talking then.
I had to tell them about all I saw and all that had happened. And Nora
was ever so interested too. The Golden Lady wasn't, though--she didn't
hardly listen. Golden people are like that."

"Would you like," said Miss Trevor, watching him closely, "to live
always in a town and have all the books you wanted and play with real
girls and boys--and visit those strange lands your twin sailors tell
you of?"

Paul looked startled.

"I--don't--know," he said doubtfully. "I don't think I'd like it very
well if Stephen and Nora weren't there too."

But the new thought remained in his mind. It came back to him at
intervals, seeming less new and startling every time.

"And why not?" Miss Trevor asked herself. "The boy should have a
chance. I shall never have a son of my own--he shall be to me in the
place of one."

The day came when Paul at last showed her the foolscap book. He
brought it to her as she sat on the rocks of the headland.

"I'm going to run around and talk to Nora while you read it," he said.
"I'm afraid I've been neglecting her lately--and I think she feels
it."

Miss Trevor took the foolscap book. It was made of several sheets of
paper sewed together and encased in an oilcloth cover. It was nearly
filled with writing in a round childish hand and it was very neat,
although the orthography was rather wild and the punctuation
capricious. Miss Trevor read it through in no very long time. It was a
curious medley of quaint thoughts and fancies. Conversations with the
Twin Sailors filled many of the pages; accounts of Paul's "adventures"
occupied others. Sometimes it seemed impossible that a child of eleven
should have written them, then would come an expression so boyish and
naive that Miss Trevor laughed delightedly over it. When she finished
the book and closed it she found Stephen Kane at her elbow. He
removed his pipe and nodded at the foo