deal about the sad condition of the family of
this worthy marooner. He thought of it even after he had stretched
himself for the night upon the bed of palmetto leaves beneath the tree
against which he had leaned when he wondered how he could be so cheerful
under the shadow of the sad fate which was before him.

CHAPTER XXVIII

LUCILLA'S SHIP

As soon as Dickory had left off his cocked hat and his gold-embroidered
coat, the little girl Lena had ceased to be afraid of him, and the next
morning she came to him, seated lonely--for this was a busy
household--and asked him if he would like to take a walk. So, hand in
hand, they wandered away. Presently they entered a path which led
through the woods.

"This is the way my sister goes to her lookout tree," said the little
girl. "Would you like to see that tree?"

"Oh, yes!" said Dickory, and he spoke the truth.

"She goes up to the very top," said Lena, "to look for ships. I would
never do that; I'd rather never see a ship than to climb to the top of
such a tree. I'll show it to you in a minute; we're almost there."

At a little distance from the rest of the forest and upon a bluff which
overlooked a stretch of lowland, and beyond that the bay, stood a tall
tree with spreading branches and heavy foliage.

"Up in the top of that is where she sits," said the child, "and spies
out for ships. That's what she's doing now. Don't you see her up there?"

"Your sister in the tree!" exclaimed Dickory. And his first impulse was
to retire, for it had been made quite plain to him that he was not
expected to present himself to the young lady of the house, should she
be on the ground or in the air. But he did not retire. A voice came to
him from the tree-top, and as he looked upward he saw the same bright
face which had greeted him over the top of the bushes. Below it was a
great bunch of heavy leaves.

"So you have come to call on me, have you?" said the lady in the tree.
"I am glad to see you, but I'm sorry that I cannot ask you to come
upstairs. I am not receiving."

"He could not come up if he wanted to," said Lena; "he couldn't climb a
tree like that."

"And he doesn't want to," cried the nymph of the bay-tree. "I have been
up here all the morning," said she, "looking for ships, but not one have
I seen."

"Isn't that a tiresome occupation?" asked Dickory.

"Not altogether," she said. "The branches up here make a very nice seat,
and I nearly always bring a book