ing, and there was something else that he
learned by his hard experience. He learned what a fortunate boy he had
always been; to appreciate all the good things that had always been so
freely given him, and above all these, he longed for his mother's
love.

He thought what a good boy he'd be if ever he reached the shore, and
he resolved never to run away, whatever happened that displeased him.

A happy boy was Max when a passing smack stopped long enough so that
he could be taken on board, and then headed straight for Cliffmore.

Max thought nothing had ever looked so beautiful as the cliffs from
which Cliffmore took its name, when in the early morning they sailed
into the bay, and saw the warm sunlight kissing land and sea.

Ah, he would never run away again, for now he knew the value of home
and love.

He ran all the way from the wharf, and up the beach and climbed the
great ledge on which sat the house where with his mother he had been
staying. He rushed up the steps to the piazza, wildly crying:

"Where are you? Where is everybody? I've come home! I've come home!"

They came at once, and from every direction, like ants from an ant
hill, and swarmed around him, asking more questions than he could
answer.

A tall, handsome woman rushed across the piazza, her eyes bright with
hope.

"Stand aside!" she cried. "It is Max! My little Max! I know his voice!
Oh, let me reach him!"

The crowd parted, and the boy was instantly clasped in his mother's
arms.

"My own! My darling!" she sobbed.

"I won't ever run away again!" he responded, his arms about her neck.

"Come!" said one of the crowd that had gathered. "Let them be alone
together for a while," and as with one accord the group melted, the
guests going far from the two who, for the time being, needed no other
company than each other.

Of course, a bit later Max told his story to eager listeners, and when
he had finished the little tale, he said: "And you folks ought to know
that Gwen was a regular brick, to keep the secret I told her not to
let out. Any girl but Gwen would have told it first thing, but Gwen
is a brick. Don't all of you think so?"

A gentleman on the outskirts of the little crowd proposed cheers.

"Three cheers for Max and his brick!" he shouted, and they gave them
with a will.

On the same morning that the little fishing smack brought Max home to
Cliffmore, the beautiful steam yacht, _Dolphin_, sailed into the bay,
with its owner, Ca