he would carry me off to pay a visit to 'old Davy,' as he called the sea; and, wandering with me along the margin of the beach, beguile the time with descriptions of all the curious shells and fish he had seen in his travels. We never returned without paying a visit to my mother's grave in the little sea-bordered churchyard; but I no longer looked upon it with the wild, dumb grief I had first known. For Uncle David, though an unlettered and little taught man, possessed the true sailor's simple faith and intense trust in the mighty Father who had preserved him through so many perils by sea; and his creed, expressed as it was in sailor language, and with strange figurative expressions, was deep enough and real enough to have shamed many a wiser professor of Christianity. In fact, from his lips beside my mother's grave, I first realized the important truths I had so often heard, but so little understood. His vivid descriptions of voyages over the pathless waters, the grave of so many goodly navies, of the terrible tempests and shipwrecks,and many marvellous escapes from death by drowning, which he had known and witnessed, fascinated me beyond measure. Then he related to me the lingering illness and death of one of his shipmates, and the solemn burial beneath the heaving waters, and told me how, at the last day, the sea should

give up its dead. With these, and many such narratives, the time passed so quickly that we had only a few minutes to look hurriedly through the rooms of the little cottage, seeing all safe, and fasten it up securely again. In fact, my aunt had generally a somewhat sharp reproof ready for us; but my uncle managed to disarm her, and make all smooth again.

Meanwhile my life at my aunt's flowed on pleasantly enough, for I had few duties to perform, my aunt preferring her maid's services, chiefly, I think, for the pleasure of driving and scolding her. My uncle had suggested my attending the parish school, that I might not lose the little education my mother had been able to give me; for he evidently thought 'book larning,' as he called it, a valuable qualification, perhaps from feeling the want of it himself. As I said before, he was an unlettered man, scarcely able to spell out laboriously his favourite chapters in the Bible; but the want must have been more his misfortune than his fault, for he was of a most inquiring turn of mind, and eager for information. He used to view my humble acquirements with great delight, and would often say, 'Ah, Polly, if I could only larn to write as you do, I could do a deal more trade than I do now, when I'm obliged to trust so much to other folks!'

Then I used to propose his practising from my school copies, which he, nothing loth, consented to; and very humorous, though touching, it was to see the grey-headed man, with his spectacles perched on his nose, his tongue thrust out a little, and his hard, brown sailor hands grasping the pen, and toiling along painfully in the mysteries of large hand. But my aunt pounced down upon us one day, and swept away the whole arrangement. 'It was not becoming,' she said, 'that her David, the captain of his own vessel, should sit down to lessons with a chit of a child!' and her wrath waxed so hot that we never repeated the experiment, sorely as we both missed the mutual pleasure.

So my days passed on,-school in the morning and afternoon, and in the evening needlework for my aunt, who was glad to find out that-thanks to my dear mother's unwearied pains-I was a very tolerable workwoman. I had my chosen seat in the deep window, whence I could look out over the old-fashioned market-place, and at night crept into the snug corner by Uncle David's chair. I was not particularly happy at school, for I was a strange, reserved child by nature and bringing-up, and shrank from all associations with the noisy, bold town's-children. Consequently I had to run the gauntlet of the usual system of persecution, and

used often to creep away and cry, half passionately half sadly, over my lonely position. I got through my lessons tolerably well, though not brilliantly, and therefore had few troubles from my teachers. But my happiest hours were at home, when left to my own resources, or wandering about with Uncle David.

And now a trouble hung over my head that grew to be a sore one, for Uncle David was going off again on his voyage, and was to sail, wind and weather permitting, the first week in August. This was now July, and all the preparations went vigorously forward, Uncle David busy with his ship all day, and aunt deeply engaged in getting all his clothes ready, and the numberless little comforts she always provided. I hated the sight of it all, for I could not but feel my great comfort and consolation was going from me. I tried to solace myself, in the time I now so often had to myself, in knitting some comforters and stockings for him, to be given as a parting present; and as the time was short, and I had to work very hard, I found the occupation a fortunate one.

Dear old Uncle David! I think he felt the parting as much as I did, for I believe I had a very warm corner in his heart. He still contrived, in the midst of his business, to steal a few minutes now and then for a walk and talk with me.

'Polly, my lass,' said he one day as we were rambling along the edge of the river, 'keep up your schooling, there's a dear, and be a good child. Your father will soon be home, and you'll have to be a comfort for two, you know!'

'When are you coming back, Uncle David?' said I. I hope you are not going to be away as long as father always is.'

'No, child,' replied Uncle David cheeringly; 'I hope to be back to eat my Christmas dinner with you all; and if your father is longer when he is away, he is sometimes longer at home. So I hope we shall all meet over your aunt's roast goose!'

'You forget, uncle,' said I sadly, 'father never stays home more than a month; so he has less holiday than you!'

Uncle David growled something inarticulate in reply to this, and changed the subject abruptly.

'I shall bring you back a necklace from some of the foreign parts I'm going to, Polly, if you're a good girl and mind your book. Mind what your aunt tells you, Polly, because she's captain over you till your father comes back, and there's no safe sailing if the crew don't obey the commander. She means very kind by you; and if she's a little short with you sometimes, Polly, you must think that the