act like an accountable being, and is far
more likely to become a reasoning and useful head of a family, than if
brought up in dependence, and under the control of even the best maternal
government. In a word, the bias of the mind is sooner obtained in such
circumstances than when others do so much of the thinking; whether that
bias be in a right or in a wrong direction. But Mary Pratt had early taken
the true direction in all that relates to opinion and character, and had
never been wanting to herself in any of the distinctive and discreet
deportment of her sex.

Our heroine hardly knew whether or not to seek for consolation in her
uncle's suggestion of Roswell's being detained among the keys, in order to
look for the hidden treasure. The more she reflected on this subject, the
more did it embarrass her. Few persons who knew of the existence of such a
deposit would hesitate about taking possession of it; and, once reclaimed,
in what way were the best intentions to be satisfied with the disposition
of the gold? To find the owners would probably be impossible; and a
question in casuistry remained. Mary pondered much on this subject, and
came to the conclusion that, were she the person to whom such a treasure
were committed, she would set aside a certain period for advertising; and
failing to discover those who had the best claim to the money, that she
would appropriate every dollar to a charity.

Alas! Little did Mary understand the world. The fact that money was thus
advertised would probably have brought forward a multitude of dishonest
pretenders to having been robbed by pirates; and scarce a doubloon would
have found its way into the pocket of its right owner, even had she
yielded all to the statements of such claimants.

All this, however, did not bring back the missing Roswell. Another winter
was fast approaching, with its chilling storms and gales, to awaken
apprehensions by keeping the turbulence of the ocean, as it might be,
constantly before the senses. Not a week now passed that the deacon did
not get a letter from some wife, or parent, or sister, or perhaps from one
who hesitated to avow her relations to the absent mariner; all inquiring
after the fate of those who had sailed in the Sea Lion of Oyster Pond,
under the orders of Captain Roswell Gardiner.

Even those of the Vineyard sent across questions, and betrayed anxiety and
dread, in the very manner of putting their interrogatories. Each day did
the dea