anticipation of the good
tidings. When Hanz had somewhat controlled his feelings he sat down in
the big chair, and with Angeline looking anxiously over his shoulder
and holding the candle, opened and began reading the letter "Yesh, t'is
mine poor poy Titus as writes him," he said, pausing for a moment. "Hish
name shust as he wrotes him when a poy." The rest of the company looked
on and listened in silence. Then he resumed the reading. "Vell, dere
wash a pig sthorm, and t' ship most goes down to t' pottom. Den she
does'nt go to t' pottom. No, she no goes to t' pottom. Den mine poy, he
shaves t' ship." Hanz went over the letter in this incoherent manner,
and then handed it to the Dominie to read for the entertainment of the
company. The letter was dated at Bahia, where the ship had put in for
fresh supplies, as was the custom with whalers. He gave a glowing
account of the voyage, and the storm, and the persons he found on board.
The good Dominie was several times interrupted by some one of the
company invoking a blessing on Tite's head. And when it was announced
that he had been made third mate of the ship, an expression of joy broke
on every lip. The school-master shook Hanz warmly by the hand, and the
inn-keeper declared it would not surprise him if Tite came home captain
of the ship.

"High, high!" exclaimed the Dominie, re-adjusting his spectacles;
"here's news. An old acquaintance has turned up." Then turning to
Critchel, he touched that odd old gentleman on the elbow, saying: "You
remember the old grave-digger of thirty years ago, oh, Critchel?"

"Well, very well," replied Critchel; "he was a clever old man, and did
his business well. He used to say I brought people into the world, and
he sent them out."

"Bless me!" resumed the Dominie; "if here is'nt his son come to life
again. The poor fellow! we all knew him well. Tite says here that he has
found a good friend in the captain, an old acquaintance of his mother.
And who do you think it is?"

Not one in the company could answer, although Angeline blushed, and
looked confused. "Price Bottom, son of that clever old man, the
grave-digger," concluded the Dominie.

"How strange," said the inn-keeper. "Old Bottom had many a glass of ale
at my house, and never troubled anybody, except to dig their graves."

"He was very poor," rejoined Critchel, in a subdued voice, "and died
leaving my bill unpaid. But he was an honest man, and paid when he had
it."

"The son wa