ld
not willingly have shared with anyone else, and they were heard with so
much evident interest, such hearty sympathy, and replied to with such
good and kindly advice. Max was even more firmly convinced than ever
before that such another dear, kind, and lovable father as his was
nowhere to be found.

And, by the way, the captain was almost equally sure that no other man
had a son quite so bright, handsome, intelligent, noble, industrious,
and in every way worthy to be the pride of his father's heart, as this
dear lad who was his own.

"God, even the God of his fathers, keep my dear boy in every hour of
trial and temptation, and help him to walk steadily in the strait and
narrow way that leads to everlasting life," he said with emotion when
bidding his son goodnight. "Keep close to the dear Master, my son, ever
striving to serve and honor him in all your words and ways, and all will
be well with you at the last."

CHAPTER XVII.

THE captain, Max, and Lulu were all three early on deck the next
morning--as lovely a May morning as ever was seen. The sun had but just
showed his face above the horizon when Lulu mounted the companion-way to
the deck, but she found her father and brother already there, sitting
side by side, both looking very happy and content.

"Good-morning, papa and Max," she said, hurrying toward them.

The salutation was returned by both in cheery, pleasant tones.

"I thought I'd be the very first on deck; but here you both are before
me," she added as she gained her father's side.

"But pleased to have you join us," he said, drawing her to a seat upon
his knee. "A sweet Sabbath morning, is it not? And how did my little
girl sleep?"

"As well as possible, thank you, papa. It is much cooler here than at
Viamede now, and a delightful breeze came in at the window. But I almost
always sleep well, and that is something to be thankful for, isn't it?"

"It is, indeed," he responded. "May my dear eldest daughter never be
kept awake by the reproaches of a guilty conscience, cares and
anxieties, or physical distress; though that last I can hardly hope she
will escape always until she reaches that blessed land where 'the
inhabitant shall not say, I am sick.'"

"Yes, sir," she said, "I ought to be very thankful that I am so healthy;
I hope I am; but any kind of physical pain I have ever been tried with
is far easier for me to bear than the reproaches of a guilty conscience.
I can never forget how