im. Trafford made a faint attempt to smile, and asked,--

"Could Hagar find you anything fit to eat? We can't live here as at
Hastings. The sea brings us our food."

Noll said something about not being hungry, and presently Trafford
asked, with the stem and gloomy look upon his face,--

"Did you know that Brother Noll, your father, did a very unwise thing
when he put you into my hands?"

Noll started at the strangeness of the question, and the bright color
came into his face.

"Do you mean that papa did wrong?" he asked, quickly.

"Yes, so far as your good is concerned. I can be no companion for you.
You would have got more good anywhere else than here."

"Don't say that, Uncle Richard!" Noll pleaded.

"Why not?" Trafford queried, not unkindly; "it is the truth."

"Papa said that you--you--" There was such a choking in Noll's throat
that he could get no further, and stopped, looking very much
distressed. Trafford took the boy's hand in his own.

"My boy," he said, huskily, calling him by that title for the first
time, "I'm but a poor wreck at best. I can teach you no good, and God
knows I wouldn't be the means of putting a shadow of evil in your
heart. Your father says, 'Make him such a man, before God, as you know
I would have him.' He asked too much, Noll. Why, boy, I can't rule
myself." Noll said not a word. Uncle Richard was getting to be more of
a mystery to him than Culm Rock had been. "And," continued Trafford,
"we will leave the matter thus: you shall be at liberty, after the
first month, to go or stay, as you like. If you go, it shall be to
stay away forever; if you stay, it shall be at your own risk. Do you
understand?"

"Yes, Uncle Richard."

Trafford saw the boy's lips quiver again, and turned quickly away; the
face was so much like his dead brother's. Noll came to him pretty
soon, said "Good-night," and went away. Hagar guided the boy up to his
room, bidding him good-night with many assurances that "'tw'u'd be
pleasanter to-morrow, 'nough sight!" and left him to himself. The
stars shone brightly over the sea. Noll could not read his Bible
verses that night, for the familiar, precious gift of mamma was
locked in the trunk away round the shore at Culm; but he prayed with
all the stronger longing for the Saviour's pity and help; and then
from his bed by one of the great windows, lay listening to the moaning
of the tide below, which seemed the saddest, lonesomest sound he h