fish to care for, I see," he replied, not
wishing to discuss religion with this odd old lady, "and it must keep
you busy."

"I need it, for the winter's comin' an' then there's no work for me,"
she answered sadly, resuming her labor, "I'm counted as one o' the
Lord's poor then."

Albert looked at the thin figure upon which hung a soiled and faded
calico dress, and then at her white hair as she bent over her work, and
the pitiful sight and the pathos of her words touched him. "If you are
one of the Lord's poor of this village," he thought, "the Lord doesn't
do much for you!" Then going to her and taking a ten-dollar bill out of
his pocket he said kindly, "Miss Terry told me a little about you, Mrs.
Leach, and for her sake I'm going to ask you to do me a favor. Here is a
little money, and please accept it as coming from the Lord."

The old woman looked startled and as he held the money out, smiling
kindly, her eyes filled with tears. "Your heart's in the right place and
the Lord'll surely bless ye for yer goodness," she said as she took it,
and then Albert, bidding her good morning, walked away. He little
realized how soon that crust of bread, cast upon the waters, would
return and bless him.

For an hour he strolled around the harbor, watching the men at work on
boats or fishing-gear, and sniffing the salt-sea odor of the ocean
breeze, and then returned to the point and began sketching the
lighthouse. He was absorbed in that when he heard a sharp whistle, and
looking up, there was the "Gypsy" just entering the harbor. He ran to
the cove where he had left his boat, and by the time the yacht was
anchored, had pulled alongside. To his surprise no one was aboard but
Frank. "Where are the rest of the boys?" he asked, as that young man
grasped his boat. Frank laughed. "Well, just about now they are playing
tennis and calling 'fifteen love' and 'thirty love' with a lot of girls
down at Bar Harbor. The fact is, Bert," he continued as Albert stepped
aboard, "our gander cruise has come to an end. They ran into some girls
they knew, and after that all the 'Gypsy' was good for was a place to
eat and sleep in. I've run her up here and shall let you keep her with
you until you get ready to go home. I'm going to cut stick for
Bethlehem, and if I can get one of the girls to go with me, I may visit
Sandgate."

Albert laughed heartily. "Want to hear some one sing 'Ben Bolt' again?"
he queried.

"Well, maybe," replied Frank; "the f