ould have any of our
own, we found and adopted Lucy. She would never have known the truth
about that had not you come and compelled me to tell it. But it's all
right now, and the Lord has been kinder to me than I deserve."

"'God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform,'"

quoted Chester.

"'He plants his footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm,'"

mused the father.

At another time the father said to Chester:

"My boy, it would please me if you would take my name. You need not
discard the one you already have, but add mine to it--yours by all
that's right."

"Yes, father."

"I have no great fortune, but I have saved a little; and when I am gone,
it will be yours and Lucy's--I'll hear no objections to that--for can't
you see, all that I can possibly do for you will only in part pay for
the wrong I have done. You say you have no definite plans for the
future. Then you will come with us to Kansas City, where I expect to
take up again my labors in the ministry, at least for a time."

Lucy came upon them at this point.

"Chester has promised to take my name," explained the father.

"That will make it unnecessary for you to change yours," said Chester,
as he put his arm around her.

A week passed as rapidly as such golden days do. Chester sent the latest
news to Elder Malby. Uncle Gilbert, always impatient, wrote from Kildare
Villa, asking when they were "coming home." Captain Brown had made a
number of trips of inspection to the docks to see how the loading of his
ship was progressing.

At the captain's invitation they all visited the vessel one afternoon.

"Why," exclaimed Lucy in surprise, when she saw the steamer at the dock,
"you have a regular ocean liner here. I thought freight boats were small
concerns."

"Small! well, now, you know better. Come aboard."

He led the way on deck, and then below.

"This ship is somewhat old," explained Captain Brown, "but she is still
staunch and seaworthy. As you see, she has once been a passenger boat,
and in fact, she still carries passengers--when we can find some who
would rather spend twelve days in comfort than be rushed across in six
or seven by the latest greyhounds. I say, when we can find such sensible
people," repeated the captain, as he looked curiously at his guests.

The dining room was spacious, the berths of the large, roomy kind which
the grasp for economy and capacity had not yet cut down.

"This is a nice