"The ship may sink; then you and these two little children will be
unprovided for. I beseech you, husband the little I leave."

"Have no fears, I shall care for them in some way; but I am not going to
forego anything in anticipation of disaster. Surely you will come back.
My great grief at the absence of my husband will rend my heart so sorely
that I must needs have some pleasure to drive away the sorrow and
perpetuate the bloom on these cheeks and the brightness in these
eyes for you."

Silly John Stevens yielded to his wife and consented to set apart for
luxuries some of the small amount he was to leave. Mrs. Stevens was born
to squander. Ann Linkon had said of her:

"She could cast from the window more than the good husband could throw
in at the door." But Ann was adjudged of slander, and ducked for
the charge.

John paid his mother a visit before departing. That sweet, gentle mother
greeted her unhappy son with, tears. It was seldom Dorothe permitted him
to visit her. His mother knew it and always assumed a cheerfulness she
was far from feeling. Ofttimes poor John had a hard struggle between
duty to his mother and fidelity to wife. It was a struggle in which no
earthly friend could aid him.

The day to sail came. At an early hour the vessel was to weigh anchor,
and just as the approaching day began to paint the eastern horizon an
orange hue, John rose and prepared to depart. All the town was quiet.
His children were sleeping, and he bent over them and pressed a kiss
upon the cheek of each, murmuring a faint:

"God bless you!"

"Shall I awake them?" his wife asked.

"No, no; the parting will be much easier if they sleep.

"Dear, I do so regret your going!" sobbed Mrs. Stevens, genuine tears
gathering in her eyes.

"Heaven grant, Dorothe, it may not be for long."

"I will go with you to the boat," she said, hurriedly dressing herself.

John's small effects had been carried aboard the evening before, so he
had only to go on board himself. As Mrs. Stevens buckled her shoes,
she repeated:

"I do so regret your going. I shall be so anxious about you and so
lonesome."

[Illustration: Once more he bent over the sleeping children.]

John heard her, but made no answer. He was standing with folded arms
gazing on his sleeping children. Moisture gathered in his eyes, and he
murmured a silent but fervent prayer to God to bless and spare them.
There came a knock at the door. It was a sailor come to tell him t