There is one
Scripture that comforts me when I think that; it is, 'Commit thy way
unto the Lord; trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pass.'"

Josiah Franklin sat silent. It was now indeed nine years since his son
Josiah had left home against his will and gone to sea--"run away to
sea," as his departure was called. It was a kind of mental distemper in
old New England times for a boy "to run away and go to sea."

There had been fearful storms on the coast. Abiah Franklin was a silent
woman when the winds bended the trees and the waves broke loudly on the
shore. She thought then; she inwardly prayed, but she said little of the
storm that was in her heart.

"I shall never see Josiah again," at last said Josiah Franklin. "It is a
pity; it is hard on me that the son who bears my name should leave me,
to become a wanderer. Boys will do such things. I may have made his home
too strict for him; if so, may the Lord forgive me. I have meant to do
my best for all my children.--Ben, let Josiah be a warning to you; you
have been having the boy fever to go to sea. Hear the winds blow and the
sea dash! Josiah must have longed to be back by the fire on nights like
these."

Josiah went to the window and tapped upon the pane. He did that often
when his mind was troubled. To tap upon the pane eased his heartache. It
was an old New England way.

Josiah took his violin, tuned it, and began to play while the family
listened by the fading coals.

"I thought I heard something," said Abiah between one of the tunes.

"What was it, Abiah?" asked her husband.

"It sounded like a step."

"That's nothing strange."

"It sounded familiar," she said. "Steps are peculiar."

"Oh, I know of whom you are thinking," said Josiah. "May the Lord
comfort you, for the winds and waves do not to-night."

He played again. His wife grew restless.

"Josiah," said she when he ceased playing, "you may say that I have
fancies, but I thought I saw a face pass the window."

"That is likely, Abiah."

"But this one had a short chin and a long nose."

She choked, and her eyes were wet.

There came a rap upon the door. It was a strong hand that made it; there
was a heart in the sound.

"I'll open the door, Josiah," said Abiah.

She removed the wooden bar with a trembling hand, and lifted the latch.

A tall, rugged form stood before her. She started back.

"Mother, don't you know me?"

"Yes, Josiah, I knew that you were coming to-night."