“A boy adrift!” repeated Mr. Lindsay. “How could he get into such a situation?”

“There may have been a wreck,” said the captain; “though I can see no other indications of it,” as through his glass he scanned the sea in the neighborhood of Harry.

“You’ll go after him, won’t you, Captain Scott?” asked Maud, anxiously.

“Certainly, my dear young lady; I will save him if I can.”

“It must be so terrible to be out in the sea with nothing but a plank to hold on to,” said Maud, sympathetically. “I hope he’ll hold on till we get there.”

“He lies nearly in our course. In twenty minutes we shall reach him.”

Meanwhile Harry, scanning the sea anxiously, had caught sight of the Rubicon. A wild thrill of hope stirred his heart. Here, at last, was a chance of life. But would they see him? That was the momentous question. Had he anything by which he might attract attention?

He felt in his pocket, and drew out his handkerchief. Had it been dry, he could have waved it aloft. But it was dripping wet, and there was no wave to it. His spirits began to sink. But there was one encouragement: the packet was heading for him. Though he might not be seen now, he would perhaps be able to attract attention when the ship drew near.

Fifteen minutes passed in the most anxious suspense. How much depended on the next quarter of an hour! In that time it would be decided whether he should live or die. Already he could discern the figures of the passengers. Was it a delusion? No, a little girl was waving her handkerchief to him. He was seen,—he would be rescued! He became so weak, in the tumult of his sudden joy, that he released his hold of the plank which had been his safeguard, and, as it proved, his deliverance. But he recovered from his weakness, and with renewed energy clung to the plank.

Nearer and nearer came the Rubicon. He saw preparations for lowering a boat. The boat was in the water, and four sturdy sailors impelled it towards him with vigorous strokes. Five minutes later he was helped into the boat, and a little later still he clambered on board the Rubicon,—a silent prayer of thanksgiving in his heart to the Almighty Father for his providential rescue.

“Well, my lad,” said Captain Scott, advancing towards him, “you’ve had a pretty narrow escape. We don’t generally stop here to take in passengers.”

“Captain,” said Harry, earnestly, “I thank you for saving my life. I couldn’t have held out much longer.”

“No, I should think not. How came you in such a pickle? But I won’t ask you to tell the story now. You’re wet, and I suppose hungry.”

Our hero admitted that he was both hungry and thirsty, having been without food or drink for nearly twenty-four hours.

Luckily there was a boy on board, of about Harry’s size. Our hero was supplied with a suit of his clothes, which he found considerably more comfortable than the one he had on, which, having been subjected to the action of the sea-water for twenty hours, was about as thoroughly drenched as it was possible for clothes to be. After being provided with dry clothing, Harry’s other wants were attended to. A bowl of hot coffee and a plentiful supply of hearty food made him feel very much more at his ease.

He was now called upon for his story. This he told frankly and without reservation to the captain and the passengers who had gathered about him. His manner was so modest, manly, and self-possessed, that no one for a moment questioned the truth of what he said, and all were prepossessed at once in his favor.

“Well, youngster,” said Captain Scott, “it appears that you’ve had rather a rough experience. I’ll try to treat you a little better than did Captain Brandon. We sea-captains are not all black sheep. There are some of us, I hope, that have common humanity.”

Captain Scott was a bluff, hearty sailor, with a large heart, full of kindly impulses. In times of danger he was rough and dictatorial, as was perhaps necessary, but at other times he followed the dictates of a kind heart and generous nature, treating the sailors under his command so well that no one would leave him unless obliged to do so.

Among those who listened with the greatest interest to Harry’s story was Maud Lindsay. When it was over she called her father aside.

“Papa,” she said, “I have a favor to ask.”

“Well, puss?”

“I want you to be kind to this boy,—Harry Raymond.”

“How do you want me to be kind to him?”

“I want you to pay his passage to Melbourne, and help him after he gets there.”

“Whew, Maud! You seem to have taken a sudden interest in the young man. I suppose you will be wanting to marry him when we get to Melbourne.”

“Nonsense, papa!” said Maud, blushing.

“Tell me, then, why I should spend so much money on a stranger.”

“You know you’ve got plenty of money, papa, and he has been very unfortunate. He’s such a nice-looking boy too.”

“I suppose if he were only unfortunate, and not nice-looking,—if he had red hair, and a face marked with the small-pox,—you would not be so anxious to have me help him along?”

“No, I don’t suppose I should feel quite so much interest in him,” Maud admitted. “Do you like homely persons as well as handsome ones, papa?”

“Why, that is rather a delicate question to ask. All I can say is, that I love you just as much as if you were good-looking.”

“That’s as much as to say I am not,” returned Maud.

“I didn’t say so.”

“But you meant so. However, everybody says I look like you; so, if I am homely, you are also.”

“You’ve got me there, Maud,” said Mr. Lindsay, laughing. “After this I shall never dare to question your good looks.”

“You’ll do as I want you to, then, papa?” said Maud, laying her hand with a coaxing gesture on her father’s arm.

“I suppose I shall have to,” said her father, smiling.

“That’s a good papa. I’ll kiss you now.”

“I will submit to the infliction with as good a grace as possible,” said Mr. Lindsay, with a comic look of resignation.

It will be perceived that the relations between Mr. Lindsay and his daughter were more cordial and affectionate than is sometimes the case. He had a warm, kindly nature, and the death of his wife had led him to centre all his love and all his hopes upon his daughter, who, we must acknowledge, was attractive and lovable enough to justify any father’s love and pride. Warm-hearted and impulsive, she won the affection of all who surrounded her, and had even made a considerable impression upon the not very susceptible heart of her strait-laced and prim governess, Miss Pendleton.

Though he had made a playful opposition to the request of his daughter, Mr. Lindsay was from the first favorably disposed towards granting it. He, too, had been pleased with the frank, manly bearing of Harry Raymond, and had been interested in the history of his life. He felt impelled to help him, as he could well afford to do, and to make up to him for the frowning of fortune by securing to him a more prosperous future.

Accordingly he sought Captain Scott immediately after his interview with Maud.

“I want to speak to you about this boy you have picked up, Captain Scott,” he commenced.

“I was just thinking about him myself. If I had anything for him to do, I would let him work his passage. As it is, I suppose I shall have to give it to him. But that won’t set him right entirely. He’ll land at Melbourne without a penny, with no means of reaching home.”

“I’ll relieve you from all anxiety on that point, captain. I’ve taken a fancy to the boy. You may charge me the amount of his passage-money, and I’ll take care of him when we get to Melbourne.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lindsay; but if you’ll do the last, I’ll give him a free passage. I like the youngster myself, and am willing to do that much for him.”

“Then suppose we call him and let him know what we propose to do? No doubt he is feeling somewhat anxious about his future.”

Harry, being summoned, presented himself. He had meanwhile learned the destination of the Rubicon, and had hardly made up his mind how to feel about it. With a boy’s love of adventure and strange lands, he was fascinated by the thought of seeing Australia, of which he had heard so much. Still he could not help reflecting that he would land penniless, separated by half the earth’s circumference from his home and mother and sister that he loved. Could he make a living in this strange land, of which he knew nothing, and could he ever earn money enough in addition to pay for his homeward passage? These were questions which it was very easy to ask, but not quite so easy to answer. Still, in spite of his doubts on this point, his situation was so much better than it had been, and he was so thankful for his deliverance from a terrible death, that he was disposed to regard the future hopefully.

“Well, youngster,” said the captain, as our hero made his appearance, “I suppose you are ready to settle for your passage.”

Harry smiled.

“I should like to,” he said, “but I haven’t got a cent.”

“Then I don’t see but I shall have to throw you overboard again, eh, Mr. Lindsay?”

“Can’t I work my passage?” suggested our hero.

“No, we are full-handed. However, as you can’t pay, I’ve about made up my mind to give you your passage free.”

“You are very kind, Captain Scott,” said Harry.

“Quite welcome, my lad. Here’s a gentleman who will do more for you than I can.”

“I suppose you have felt some anxiety about how you will get along when you arrive at Melbourne?” said Mr. Lindsay.

Harry admitted his anxiety.

“You may lay aside all apprehensions, then. I will take care that you suffer for nothing, and will see what I can do to put you in a way of earning your living.”

“You are kinder to me than I deserve,” said our hero, surprised and grateful.

“I do this at my daughter’s request,” said Mr. Lindsay. “She was the first to see you from the deck, and now she has asked me to interest myself in your favor.”

Harry heard this with pleasure. He had noticed Maud Lindsay, and had been quite charmed by her bright, attractive face, and it was pleasant to him to learn that she felt an interest in him. He expressed his gratitude to her.

“Come with me,” said Mr. Lindsay, “and you shall thank her in person.”

Harry accompanied his new friend with a degree of bashfulness, for he was not much accustomed to young ladies’ society. But he soon found himself at ease with Maud. She had numberless questions to ask, which he took pleasure in answering. Then he, too, asked questions about London, where she had hitherto lived. So they got on excellently together, and for the remainder of the voyage were almost inseparable. But upon the details of their growing friendship, however interesting to the parties themselves, I have no room to speak. Sea-life is monotonous, and it may be as well passed over briefly. Enough to say that the weeks sped on, and at length one pleasant morning the Rubicon ascended the Yarra Yarra River, and the impatient voyagers gazed with eager interest at the principal city in Australia, which, with its handsome buildings and wide, straight streets, now lay stretched out before them.