As Derry spoke, he gave a thrust with his clenched fist as at an imaginary enemy. The eyes that had lately been softened into tenderness had their old fierce twinkle, and his hard features settled into their fixed expression of determined daring.

The men gave place as he forced his way up the hatchway. On he went, stamping along the deck as if he ground an enemy beneath his heel at every step.



CHAPTER XV.

A LETTER.

Blair would gladly have chosen another time and place for the composition of the difficult letter he was called on to write, but he felt compelled to fulfil his promise at once. The men passed by him in silence, save the single remark of Brimstone, "Give my love to your sweet mother," delivered in an insulting tone, and with a laugh more repulsive than the hiss of a snake.

Blair glanced anxiously in the direction where Derry had disappeared, almost fearing to see that clenched hand coming forth to do its threatened work of vengeance. But Derry was already far away, and Brimstone joined his mess-mates without receiving a word or sign of rebuke.

Blair took up his pen with a silent prayer that it might be guided by Him without whose aid vain are the most eloquent words of the wisest counsellor. His letter was as follows:

"DEAR —— I don't know your name, but your father is my friend, and of course I feel interested in you for his sake. He has been very kind to me, and it is a great pleasure to me to do any thing for him. He has been talking to me of you, and while he has gone on deck he wants me to write to you. How he loves you. You are the bright spot to him in life, his oasis in the desert of this weary world. When he is far out on the wide sea, your face comes up before him, and makes the loneliest place a home. He loves to think that you pray for him. He feels that he needs your prayers. Happy are the fathers who, plunged in earthly cares on sea and land, have children to fold their hands and lift their hearts in prayer for them. This is all you can do for your absent father. Though you could give him crowns and kingdoms, wealth and honor, they would not be worth as much as one earnest, faithful, importunate prayer in Jesus' name. That name is all-powerful, and must prevail. Your father calls you his 'little flower.' He wants his little flower to be pure and modest and simple, like the lily, which all may consider and see in it the handiwork of God. Only God, who made this beautiful world, can purify and cleanse our souls and help us to walk in his holy ways. I know that you have been taught all this by the kind friends who have watched over you from infancy. Your father wants you to give good heed to their counsel, and ever watch and pray and struggle against temptation. No blow could fall on him so sore as to know his little darling was walking in the wrong path. May you never so grieve his fond heart. Again I must tell you, though you have read it in his repeated caresses, how your father loves you. May you be to him that best of treasures, a prayerful, pious daughter, is the sincere wish of

"Your father's friend,

"BLAIR ROBERTSON."



Blair folded his letter, and then addressing a few lines to his mother, he inclosed the two in a single envelope, and sought out Derry for further directions. Derry was pacing up and down the deck, making the boards ring with his heavy tread.

"Shall I read you what I have written?" said Blair, laying his hand on Derry's shoulder.

Derry started as if in a dream; but recollecting himself, he said quickly, "Yes, yes. Here, here in the moonlight. No one will listen here."

The light of the full moon fell on the open letter, and Blair read it without difficulty.

"That's it, that's it. Every word of it true," said Derry in a voice trembling with feeling. "It would kill me to think of her going wrong. But she wont. Her way is up, and mine is down, down, down. Give me the letter; I'll put the right name on it. You don't mind my seeing what goes to your mother. That's no more than fair. I tell you I don't like folks to know where my flower hides. I'll see it into the bag, and mind you don't breathe a word of this. Mind!"

Derry's finger was raised in a threatening attitude as he spoke, and he stopped after he had moved some steps away to give again to Blair this sign of silence and secrecy.

Blair lingered on deck, not to enjoy the calm moonlight which so lovingly crowned and silvered the crests of the waves. His eyes were lifted upward, but not to gaze on the deep blue of the moonlit sky. To the great Creator, without whom was not any thing made that was made, Blair was pouring out the earnest petitions of his loving heart. For Derry and his little daughter prayed the young Christian, as they only can pray who believe the blessed words, "If ye shall ask any thing in my name, I will do it."



CHAPTER XVI.

A MARVEL.

Weeks flew by while the Molly was cruising about, waiting and watching for the expected East Indiaman. The privateer, meanwhile, was not losing time. Several small merchant vessels came in her way, and submitted without a blow to the argument of her compelling pair of guns. These vessels were either stripped of their cargo and then burnt, or else sent with a few sailors as their prize crew to some American port. The capture of the British merchant ships kept the Molly supplied with the necessaries for her continued cruise, and served besides to calm the impatience of the men, who were beginning to complain of their captain's pertinacious clinging to the hope of taking the East Indiaman, which might already be safely harbored in English waters. There had been dark nights and foggy days in which she might well have passed them, so they reasoned. But Derry Duck said there was no moving the captain, and grumblers would do best to "keep their tongues between their teeth." The mail-bag of the Molly had gone home on board one of the captured vessels, and it was a pleasant thought to Blair that his dear mother would soon feel almost as if she heard the voice of her son at her side. Derry's little daughter too would receive her letter, and Blair tried to picture her joy as she held this treasure in her hands.

Derry moved about in his usual way, but was inclined to avoid Blair since the night when he had given the boy his confidence. Blair often found it hard to believe that those gentle, tender tones had come from Derry's great closely shut mouth, and that those snapping eyes had softened almost to tears as he spoke of his darling child.

Sunday on board the Molly was precisely like other days, as far as the movements and occupations of the men were concerned. To Blair there was ever a more solemn stillness over the sea, and a more imposing grandeur in the wide canopy of the overhanging sky. One great temple it seemed to him, the sunlit waves its shining floor, the firmament its arching roof, and the unseen angels the countless worshippers, singing, "Praise and glory and honor be unto the name of God most high." In this adoring song Blair heartily joined, and he longed and prayed for the time to come when on every white-winged ship there should be gathered the servants of the Lord of sabaoth, rejoicing to call upon his holy name and give him glory for all his wondrous works.

Absorbed in such thoughts as these, Blair was leaning over the side of the ship one Sunday morning. Suddenly a strong voice close at his side spoke with deep earnestness the words, "Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless his holy name."

Blair turned in astonishment, and saw Derry Duck close at his side. Tears were coursing down those rough cheeks, and the almost blinded eyes were lifted reverently upward, and silently spoke the same language as the song of praise.

Blair's heart bounded. He could not be deceived. One of God's great miracles of grace had been wrought. The devil had been cast out, and the ransomed was giving God the glory. It must be so.

Blair seized the hand of his companion, and looking into his face, said quickly, "Oh, Derry, are you really in earnest?"

"Bless the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits: who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender mercies,'" continued Derry with deep feeling. "He found me dead in trespasses and sins; he has given me new life in Christ Jesus. Praise and honor unto his holy name."

Tears rushed to the eyes of Blair Robertson. A fervent "Thank God!" was all he could utter. Blair's whole being did indeed "magnify the Lord" at this wonderful evidence of his power. Curses had been changed to praises. The blaspheming lips had been touched by the Saviour's hand, and taught the language of the children of God. His young servant could not but "stand in awe," and own the might and the wonderful mercy of the King of kings.

Derry was the first to break the solemn silence. "Those words never left me: 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool,'" he said. "They stuck to me, and rang in my ears and searched every nook and cranny of my wicked heart. Often I had longed to be a Christian man for the little dear's sake, if not for my own; but I said to myself, 'No, Derry Duck, you are all pitch, you can't be made white;' and Satan helped me to hold on to that way of thinking. Your scripture gave the lie again and again to that. It seemed to say to me, You choose blackness and damnation, when God asks you to wash and be clean. What I've suffered these weeks, no soul out of perdition can tell. The devil clung to me. He would not let me go. He claimed me for his own. He told over to me my dark, hidden sins, and taunted me that I had gone too far to go back now. He hissed in my ear that no power could cleanse and save such as me. Then came up the words, 'With God all things are possible,' 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.' 'Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.' And he has saved me. I am His. He has given me a mouth to praise him. O Blair, think of his wonderful mercy, to take poor wicked Derry Duck into the kingdom of heaven."

The boy's heart throbbed and swelled with joy and praise. What was the changing of water to wine, or the calming of the stormy sea, compared to this marvellous miracle wrought in a living human soul? "He to whom much is forgiven, loveth much," said our blessed Saviour; and in Derry this truth was abundantly verified. The Christ whose blood could wash such as he, was a Lord for whom he was willing to suffer even unto death. The mercy that could stoop to ransom such a transgressor, claimed an affection before which poor Derry's deep love for his earthly darling paled, as the things of time fade into insignificance before the things of eternity.

Blair had longed to see his rude shipmates forsaking their sins; he had prayed and wrestled in prayer for them. Yet now, when he saw the work begun before his eyes, he felt the faithlessness of those very prayers, and knew that they could have won no fulfilment, but for the merits of the great Intercessor in whose name they had ever been offered.

"Why should it be thought a thing incredible to you that God should raise the dead?" This question of the apostle comes with power to the Christians of our own day. Do you really believe it possible for God to raise to newness of life the dead in trespasses and sins? There is no soul so hardened that it cannot be melted to penitence by the touch of the mighty Spirit of God. Let this thought make us fervent, importunate, instant in prayer for the souls that are at death's door and hasting to destruction.

Can any thing but the power of God make the moral man, once proud of his own uprightness, humble as the little child, leaning only on the cross of Christ for salvation? He who works this wonder can do yet more. What are the sins and self-will of the human heart, in comparison with the might of the majesty of Jehovah? He who laid the strong foundations of the earth, and led forth the marshalled millions of the stars in their wonderful order, can mould and fashion the soul of man at his will. Let us not stand doubting, timid, and faint-hearted, discouraged by the foul sins which blot and efface in man the fair image of his Maker. Let us rather "come boldly to the throne of grace," and plead through the great Intercessor for every wanderer from the right path, and specially and perseveringly for those dear ones of our own households, who, like the prodigal, have left the Father's house, to be in misery and want in sin's far foreign land.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE CONFLICT.

Each kind affection nature gives Religion makes more bright, As sunshine on the landscape falls, And beautifies with light.

The patriot had hitherto been sleeping in the heart of Derry Duck; but now he was to awake like a "strong man armed." There is not one kindly, pleasant, honorable feeling, but is strengthened and ennobled by the touch of divine grace. Nor only so: he who finds himself suddenly alive to his allegiance to God, has at the same time his vision cleared to see around him a thousand hitherto unknown or neglected ties, which bind him to his fellow-men. In a whisper of conscience, he is taught that

He is the faithful patriot, Who keeps his Maker's laws; Nor will the servant of his Lord Forsake his country's cause.

Among the sins of which Derry Duck was called deeply to repent, was the dishonor which he had brought on his own Christian land, in many a port where his wild deeds had left their guilty trace. What had he done for the glory of Christian America? Bravely he had fought under her flag; but it had been through reckless daring, or a thirst for gold. Not for a noble principle, not for the defence of home and kindred, altar and hearth-stone, had he raised his strong right arm.

Blair Robertson rejoiced to see the spirit of true patriotism awaking in the bosom of the hardy sailor. The high-souled boy had now a sharer in his enthusiastic love of his country, and devotion to her cause. They joined their labors at once to improve the defenders of the flag, who were their shipmates, and yet a disgrace to their native land. Blair went on in his own peculiar way; while Derry at once announced his position as a Christian mate, who would suffer no profanity in his hearing, and would see the crew of the Molly engage in no deeds on the high seas, not sanctioned by the letters of marque which were their warrant for their blows struck against the common foe.

Some outward change had been produced in the men of the privateer, when all thoughts were suddenly turned into a new channel. A fast sailing American merchant ship informed Captain Knox that the expected East Indiaman was not more than half a day behind her.

All was at once stir and bustle from stem to stern of the Molly. The sturdy little craft was like the bristling porcupine, ready and impatient for action, when the masts of the East Indiaman slowly rose above the horizon. The privateer gave chase at once, and rapidly neared its prey. The guns of the Molly gave the signal for surrender. The British flag went down, and Derry Duck, with a strong party of boarders was sent at once to seize the valuable prize.

Ready to pounce on their defenceless victims, the eager sailors climbed the sides of the huge vessel and stood upon its deck, cutlass and pistol in hand. Suddenly the hatchways were thrown open, and a band of British soldiers sprang forth with a fierce battle-cry. Derry Duck rushed among them with desperate valor, and was heartily seconded by his fearless followers.

From the deck of the Molly, Captain Knox could see the trap into which he had fallen. He could not use his well-loaded guns without destruction to his own men. He could only send reinforcements to their small band, and quietly see the battle fought hand to hand, which a few cannon balls would have settled in a moment.

Several skilful British marksmen were firing at the few who remained on the approaching privateer, when Captain Knox ordered Blair aloft.

Blair obeyed without a moment's hesitation, and sped upward as if in the glee of boyhood's play. Yet in the heart of the young patriot there was prayer for his soul, should it be set free in that hour of danger; there was burning love for his country's cause. The eye of Derry Duck fell on the isolated group who had been firing at the privateer. He saw a well-known form climbing to the dizzy masthead, while the shot were flying around him. Derry rushed in among them with his axe in his hand, and waving it around his head scattered them like leaves before the wind. He stayed long enough to see that Blair had not dropped like a wounded bird among the rigging of the Molly.

Slowly, very slowly, the boy made his way to the deck, then sank down faint and bleeding. A bullet had entered his side; yet he had been so ready for the stroke that it had not thrown him off his guard. Although weak and giddy, he had made his way down his narrow pathway, and reported his duty done. Even the hardy captain gave a pitying glance at the brave boy as he was borne below by the sailors. Yet this was no time for such thoughts in the mind of Captain Knox. The reinforcement from the Molly were on the deck of the East Indiaman. He could hear the hearty cheer of Derry Duck as he placed himself at their head, and rushed upon the brave Britons.

Derry's impetuous charge was too much for the soldiers, many of them enfeebled by the climate of India, and going home to recruit in their native breezes. Over the deck swept Derry and his band like a fierce hurricane, which naught can stay or withstand. A shout of victory went up from the Molly, a shout which Derry's excited men sent back over the water in a deafening reply. The East Indiaman was won; her crew were prisoners; her cargo the prize of the Molly.

Where was Blair Robertson amid the general triumph? This was Derry Duck's first question, as his returning footsteps again trod the deck of the privateer.

Alone in the deserted cabin, Derry found what was more precious to him now than his share in the glory or the spoils of the recent fight.

The rough sailor asked no questions of the fainting lad. Tearing open Blair's garments, he found at once the wound, and with ready skill and unwavering firmness his sharp knife did the surgeon's duty. The bullet was forced out by Derry's hard fingers, and his rough hands tied the bandage with a touching attempt at tenderness. Blair uttered no murmur. His lips moved gently, but they whispered only words befitting the sinner passing into the presence of his God.

Derry caught the low whisper, and understood its meaning. "I can't let you go. What! going? Oh my lad!" and Derry Duck's hard, blood-marked face was suddenly wet with tears.



CHAPTER XVIII.

WAGES.

The East Indiaman was too important a prize to be trusted to any other than the skilful sailor and brave officer, Derry Duck. He was at once ordered to prepare to take her into an American port, with all due formalities.

Derry's sea-chest contained more than his scanty wardrobe, his golden gains during this long cruise were garnered there. Yet he trusted it to the hands of unscrupulous men, while his own arms found a more welcome burden. Tenderly as a mother bears her sleeping infant, Derry clasped a slender figure to his rough bosom, and would suffer no one to give him aid in his office of love. There was a gentle pulsation in the heart so near to his. There was a growing warmth in the form which was so precious to the mate of the Molly.

Blair was still alive, and Derry would allow no duty to interfere with the sacred privilege of caring for the wounded youth, and bearing him home, living or dead, to his mother.

On a couch of Indian luxury Derry laid the prostrate figure of Blair Robertson, and as he turned to leave the cabin, the face of the once hardened tar was softened into womanly gentleness as he said, "God help him, and bring him to, sound and well."

The excessive faintness and exhaustion of the wound had indeed seemed to Blair like the lingering, reluctant parting of soul and body; and he might well have adopted the words of that hymn, honored by the murmured breathings of many a dying saint:

"What is this absorbs me quite, Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirit, draws my breath? Tell me, my soul, can this be death? The world recedes, it disappears: Heaven opens on my eyes, my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings: I mount, I fly; O grave, where is thy victory! O death, where is thy sting!"

The curtain which separates this lower world from the glories of the unseen bliss above, had grown thin and almost transparent to the eyes of the Christian boy, thus brought to the gates of death. Near, very near to him seemed the face of the Saviour who had of late been his realized and beloved companion. It was as the mother bows down to her suffering child, that this glimpse of the dear Redeemer was made so plain to the weakened, prostrate boy. He was still in the flesh, and to know weary waiting and suffering, ere health should once more send the glad blood bounding along his veins.

Yet there was work for Blair Robertson on his couch of pain, work to do for his heavenly Master. Blair was not the only sufferer on board the prize.

Often during the homeward voyage, a settee was placed beside the soft couch which Derry had appropriated to Blair's especial use. The occupant of the settee was a huge, muscular, repulsive young man, whose yellow hair lay uncombed on his pillow, while his pale, freckle-marked face was distorted with pain, rage, and the torture of a rebellious spirit, when sorely smitten by the hand of God.

Many of Brimstone's fierce shipmates had been hurried into eternity in the midst of the struggle on the deck of the East Indiaman. Blair's coarse tormentor, however, had escaped with his life, but with one leg so wounded and bruised that it was promptly cut off, as the only way of preventing ultimate death. Brimstone ground his teeth and swore fearful imprecations at each movement that reminded him of his loss. It was in vain that Derry bade him be quiet, and rather thank God that time was left him for repentance. In Brimstone's hardened heart there seemed no resting-place for good seed, no soil prepared for the heavenly plant.

His only relief was in forgetfulness of his misfortune, when he was wiled from thoughts of himself by one of Blair's stirring tales of adventure, or ballads of the olden time. Blair would weary out his little strength for the benefit of his companion, and yet win not one word of thanks for his kindly endeavors. Yet he persevered, ever mingling in his stories and songs whispers of the only source of comfort for the afflicted, the only balm for the suffering soul.

Brimstone's wild and wicked life had poisoned the very sources and flow of his life's blood. His was no flesh to heal, like that of a healthy child.

While Blair was daily making long strides towards health, fierce pains and burning inflammation seized on Brimstone's stunted limb. Then no voice could soothe him, no words of comfort reach his ear. He chafed and tossed upon his narrow couch like a wounded beast of the forest, and finally refused to suffer any hand to dress or touch the afflicted part.

Pain ceased at last, the end was near. Death would soon claim the loathsome body, and bring the polluted soul before the judgment-bar. Blair gently told the sufferer the awful truth, yet not from the lips of the lad would he believe such an announcement. It was not until Derry's blunt confirmation made sure the fearful tidings, that the dying man would believe that he stood on the brink of eternity.

We draw the curtain on the horrors of the scenes that followed. May it never be the reader's lot to hear the desperate cries of a ruined soul about to meet its God.

The transgressor must eat of the fruit of his choice, and sink into the pit towards which his face has been resolutely set. The wages of sin is death.

Vain were the pleadings of Blair, and the rougher urgency of Derry, calling on the dying man to lift his eyes to the cross of Christ, trust, and be saved.

With a fearful howl of anguish the condemned soul took its flight; while his companions, awe-struck, prayed God to spare them such a doom.

On the dark waters the body of Brimstone was cast, to be seen no more until it should rise at the last day, we fear, to the resurrection of damnation.

Lost seemed the labors of Blair Robertson for the good of his worthless shipmate; but no prayerful effort for the holy cause is vain. Blair had other listeners than the ear to which he spoke. Unconscious of all around him, he had but striven to touch and uplift the soul of the dying man. The group of sailors gathered round the departing wretch would soon be scattered far and wide on the rolling seas, thousands of miles from the home of Blair Robertson, and the solemn truths he had spoken might spring up in their hearts and bear fruit unto eternal life.



CHAPTER XIX.

HOME.

A light fall of snow had clothed all Fairport in white, and whispered in the ears of lingering birds that they had better be off for the "sunny south," ere old winter had fairly begun his icy reign. Cold and dark, the waters of the harbor lay encircled by the pure and glistening land. Cheerful wood fires were warming many a hearth-stone, while wives and mothers thought of their absent ones on the sea, and hoped and prayed no chilling storm might be rending their sails and perilling the lives so precious to home and native land.

Mrs. Robertson had suffered from many anxious thoughts since the departure of her brave son. But hers was not a timid or a repining spirit. She knew that the same eye watched over him on sea as on land; and the almighty arm could protect him as well upon the deep waters, as in the shelter of his mother's fireside.

Fairport glasses had plainly seen the British colors mounted by the vessel which had borne away the young pilot. The mother's heart throbbed as she mentally pictured the determined patriotism of her darling son. Not merely a fancy and a picture that scene remained.

The two privateers which had given chase to the dismantled British vessel had an easy victory, and soon brought her triumphantly into Boston harbor. Hal Hutching's story won him liberty at once. The English boy had no sooner set foot on land, than he turned his face in the direction of Fairport. Way-worn and foot-sore he was, when he knocked at last at Mrs. Robertson's door. Warmth and welcome, love and gratitude awaited him within. It was his privilege first to tell the mother how nobly her son had borne himself in the hour of trial, and with what calmness he had faced the king of terrors. Poor Hal by turns wept and glowed with enthusiasm, as he dwelt on the praise of his friend, while the mother's heart welled with deep thankfulness at the mercy which had so spared and honored her boy.

Many and many a time was Hal Hutchings forced to tell over his story to auditors of all ages and conditions. The Fairport Guard, formally assembled, demanded the right of a relation especially for them. Every young heart beat high, and every eye flashed with kindling pride in their brave commander, and each one resolved to be, like him, an honor to his home and country. Like Lycurgus, their leader had given his laws, then left his followers to be faithful until his return. Anew they pledged themselves to keep their pure code, and strive to be a body which Blair Robertson the patriot would not be ashamed to command.

Hal Hutchings meekly bore the reflected honors that were thrust upon him, and well understood that it was his connection with the absent Fairport boy which made him such an object of interest. Hal however did not object to the golden gains which resulted from his new position. Everybody was ready to give him "a job" now, and his old clothes were soon exchanged for new ones, bought with his own money and adapted to his own taste.

Not a day passed that did not see Hal Hutchings at Mrs. Robertson's door, to lend his strong arm and willing feet to do for her some little kindness, a true labor of love. When the Sabbath was wearing away, Hal might be seen moving his coarse finger slowly along the sacred page, reading holy words, to which Mrs. Robertson from time to time added her voice of explanation or gentle persuasive counsel.

So the chilling weeks of autumn passed at Fairport, and now the first snow was ushering in November's dreary rule. A strong landward breeze was rolling the waves one after another as in a merry chase towards the shore, while the Fairport Guard were gathered on the wharf, valiantly fighting a battle with snowballs. The appearance of a ship entering the harbor soon called the attention of the combatants away from the "charge, rally, and charge again," in which they had just been engaged. Men muffled in greatcoats came out of the neighboring stores and offices, and shivered in the cold wind as they bent their eyes on the stranger ship, for so at once they pronounced her.

"British build and rigging, but the right colors flying. She knows the channel. See, she makes it as well as if she had Joe Robertson himself on board. There now, don't she come up the harbor as if this was her home, and she knew just where she was going to cast anchor?"

Remarks like these dropped from the lips of the eager watchers:

"I shouldn't wonder if it was our captain coming from foreign parts," said a small member of the Fairport Guard. "He's took that ship as likely as not, and is coming home in her."

"Pshaw, child," burst from several listeners.

"I wish we did know where that boy is," said another speaker. "He's a credit to this place, that's certain."

"He's an honor to America," said Hal Hutchings, who was now allowed to give his views on all occasions. Hal's face was bent forward, and his eye was fixed on a slender lad who was anxiously looking towards the shore. "It's him, it's him; it's Blair, I tell you. It's him," shouted Hal, throwing his cap in the air, and giving three leaps that would have astounded a catamount.

Hal Hutchings fought his way to the privilege of being the first to grasp Blair's hand, as he stepped ashore; then there was a perfect rush of hands and a cheer from young and old that Derry Duck said was the pleasantest music that ever he heard.

"Where is she? Where's my mother, Hal?" said Blair as soon as he could speak.

"Hearty, hearty, and just like an angel as she always was," said Hal vociferously. The boy's joy seemed to have made him almost beside himself. "She don't know you're here, she don't. I'll be off to tell her."

"No, Hal, no. I'll be there in a minute myself," said Blair, moving off at a marvellous pace for a boy who had been wounded so lately.

The Fairport Guard fell into rank and followed their commander, while a motly crowd brought up the rear.

Blair stood on the familiar door-step. He laid his hand on the lock, and paused for a second to calm his swelling emotions, in which gratitude to God was even stronger than the deep love for his mother.

Quietly sat Mrs. Robertson, plying the needle at her fireside, when the door gently opened, and her son stood before her.

That was a moment of joy too deep for description. While the mother and son were clasped in a long embrace, Hal could not help having his share of the interview by crying out, "He's come home! Be n't it splendid? He's come! Dear, dear, I shall burst."

"You dear good fellow," said Blair, throwing his arm over Hal's shoulder, "you've been a comfort to my mother, I know."

"That he has," said Mrs. Robertson. "It was he who told me how your noble courage saved your native town and the very home of your mother from the flames. I thank God for such a son."

"Then I did what you would have wished, mother. Your praise is my precious reward," said Blair with affectionate simplicity.

"God has sustained you in the path of duty, and brought you in safety to your home and your mother. Let us thank him for all his mercies, my son. Hal is no stranger to prayer now; he will gladly join us."

It was indeed the voice of true thanksgiving which rose from those grateful hearts. He who has contrived joys for the meanest of his creatures, doubtless takes a pure pleasure in the happiness which he gives to his chosen ones even here; and rejoices to know that it is but the foreshadowing of that eternal delight in store for them where parting shall be no more.



CHAPTER XX.

SACRED JOY.

Sweetly the Sabbath bells sounded in the ear of Blair Robertson. What a joy it was to be once more at home, once more in his native land. How delightful the thought that prayer had already gone up from many family altars, and already Christ's little ones were gathering to be taught of him and sing his praise. To dwell among the ungodly is indeed a bitter trial. The society of the unprincipled had been to Blair like a dark cloud overshadowing his pathway; and it was a new delight to him to be once more among the people of God. What a blessing it seemed to him to be a dweller in the land of light and liberty, where the free worshippers might pray and praise without let or hinderance from ungodly men.

Full of such glad thoughts, he walked towards the church so endeared to him by many hallowed associations. His mother was at his side, and his kind townsmen on every hand were giving him their cordial greeting, while the little children looked at him with curious wonder, as the brave boy whom even their fathers "delighted to honor."

Once in the house of God, all other thoughts were hushed in the mind of Blair, by the remembrance of the presence into which he was now ushered. It was a joy to him to join in heartfelt prayer, and praise with so many true children of God, and to stand among his brethren who like him could say from the heart, "I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ."

A deep, strong voice near him made the young worshipper aware of the presence of Derry Duck in the solemn assembly, joining with his whole heart in the hymn of praise. Ah, men might heap honor upon the young patriot, and applaud his courage in the hour of danger, and welcome was their cordial tribute; but their loudest acclamations had not power to wake in the soul of Blair Robertson such deep, grateful joy as the sight of that ransomed sailor, brought home to the Father's house.

Every word of the service had its meaning to Derry Duck. He confessed anew the sins of his burdened heart, and accepted once more the free forgiveness found in Christ Jesus. He called on God as his Father, and seemed to be professing before men and angels the faith for which he was willing to die.

The clergyman gave forth the simple notice, "A person desires to return thanks for a safe return from sea." All eyes were suddenly bent upon Blair with loving pride. Very deep and true was the thanksgiving of the Fairport congregation for the return of their brave deliverer; but who shall tell what passed in the mother's heart, or in that of her rejoicing son?



CHAPTER XXI.

CONCLUSION.

It was in vain that Blair tried to persuade Derry Duck to see his mother, and accept her thanks for his kindness to her wounded boy. Derry declared that he would hear no thanks, the odds were all on the other side. And as for sitting down in a Christian woman's parlor, and making himself easy there, he wasn't fit for that. A forgiven sinner he believed he was, and could bow in the house of God with his fellow-men; but he was a beginner in the ways of godliness, too much tainted with his miserable past to be right company for those who had never gone so far astray. Besides, he pleaded, he had his little flower to see, in her own little nook. It would be a shame to him to set his foot on any other threshold before he had spoken to her. To her his first spare hours belonged.

Derry returned from his visit to his child with his heart more than ever full of love to his darling. She had received his letter, and rejoiced over it with great joy, declaring that not a treasure she possessed was so precious. Derry had allowed himself but the usual short interview, ever trembling lest he should mar her delight in her father by some knowledge of the wild life he had led. Yet, when he laid his hand on her head at parting, he could not resist speaking the fervent "God bless you, darling," which stirred at his heart.

She had clasped and kissed his hand with a sudden gladness, as if such words from him were both a joy and a surprise. He waited for no questions, but hurried away.

"When the war is over, you will come home and settle down with your little housekeeper, and let her take care of you. How glad that will make her," said Blair persuasively.

"I shall never be fit company for her," said Derry firmly; "I know it, my boy. True, I'm a changed man. I trust I'm forgiven for the sake of the Crucified. But I've a pit within that needs purging thrice over. A man like me is not made into a saint in a minute, though he may read his pardon clear. 'Following hard after,' shall be my motto; 'following on to know the Lord.' I'm not the one to sit down at the chimney-side with a creature like her. No, Blair, I tell you no. Look here, my boy. Here's my path of duty. I've a God to glorify, I've a country to serve. Rough sailors wont think of my ways as she would. If I'm like a rock in what I know is right, and God will help me, I can do 'em good. I can set up the right banner among 'em. I can make the forecastle praise the great and holy name. It is for this I mean to work. It is for this I mean to be a sailor now. There's not a port I've ever set foot in, but I've shamed a Christian land there. I mean to put in to every port where I've showed my face, and let them see I've changed my colors. Where I've done evil, there I mean to try to do good. I can't wipe out bygones. They are written in the book up there. But there's One in white robes will stand for me before his Father's throne. I'll work for Him while there's life in me; and when I die, I hope it will be giving praise and glory to his name. I want to do my country credit too. It's no shining thing, to get in the papers, that I expect to do; but just a patient serving God, that brings honor to the land where a man was born. You will pray for me, I know, when I'm off on the water; and if I die—your mother knows the name—she'll go to my little darling, and tell her how her father loved her, and hopes to live with her in the kingdom of heaven. I shall be fit to sit down with her at that marriage-feast. I shall have on the 'white robes,' and poor Derry Duck will have a 'new name,' by which the angels will call him, and his little darling will not blush to hear it. I shall live with her there." Derry dashed the tears from his eyes as he spoke, but he firmly repeated, "Here, I must labor alone, and struggle to grow like the Master. There, none shall lay any thing to the charge of God's elect; and I and my pretty one will join with her mother in singing round the throne. Good-by, my boy. God bless you. You have sent out a Christian sailor to work for him on the seas. You have sent out a lover of his country to strive to do her honor in his closet on his knees, at his duty in the fight, and in his hammock when they drop him into the deep sea."

Derry wrung the hand of the young patriot, and then moved away with quick uncertain steps. A lonely man, yet not alone, there was a comfort and joy in the rough sailor's heart. His life of labor was to be a glad voyage to a better country, whose harbor lights would be ever leading him onward, and whose shining shore would ever glisten for him in the certain future beyond the grave.

The young patriot had indeed been blessed in winning such a devoted servant to the Master's cause, and such a Christian sailor to maintain the honor of his native land.

There was more such work for Blair Robertson, and for it he steadily labored.

Peace came with its illuminations and festivities. The sword was laid aside on sea and land, yet Blair might still be serving the country he so dearly loved. His example, his fireside talk, and his glowing words in the assemblies of his people, might ever cast their weight in the right balance. The outcasts and the immigrant were still to be so trained and ennobled as to make them fit citizens of our free and happy land. Above all, by his prayers and his holy living, he might call down on his home and country such a blessing as ever encompasses the dwelling of him who feareth the Lord.

To be such a patriot was the aim of Blair Robertson. Would that there were many so to live and labor. Then might we be sure of victory over all our enemies, and of the abounding blessings of lasting peace.

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