Hal Brooks and his sister Dolly lived in town. But this was only in the winter. As soon as the first of June came every year there was a great packing of trunks, for all the family were off to the seaside. Mr. Brooks had a house in the country as well as in town. The country house was built away out on a point of land that ran far into the ocean. On one side of this point were the quiet waters of the bay that lay in front of an old sea-port town, but on the other were the wild waves of the ocean.

The beach that faced the ocean was a fine one. In some places there was a long stretch of sand, and here in the summer time people came down from the town to bathe in the surf on pleasant days. But as you walked along

this beach, presently you would come to a great rocky point, where the air was full of foam as the heavy swell from the sea dashed against it.

There were little sheltered nooks among these rocks, though, and here Dolly loved to sit in the bright Summer days, and watch the seagulls or the boats that swept by.

But we must go back to Hal and Dolly, who are now in town.

It is the first day of June, and the sun is shining brightly. In front of Mr. Brooks’ door is a great van, which two sturdy porters are fast filling with trunks, for to-day they are all off for Oldport. Hal stands on the steps watching the trunks as they are brought down, one after another, with great satisfaction, but he is soon summoned to breakfast. The carriage is to be at the door in half an hour to take them to the station; for Oldport is a long day’s ride on the railway from the town where they live.

There is not much to tell of that day’s ride in the cars. For hour after hour their way led through green fields, where the cattle were browsing so lazily that they hardly lifted their eyes to look at the train as it rushed by. But toward afternoon they began to get now and then peeps of the sea, and once, through the marine glass that his father had, Hal could plainly make out two sailors furling the jib of a vessel some two miles at sea.

They were both pretty tired and dusty, and the basket that had held their lunches was very empty, when just at dusk they heard the brakeman shout “Oldport,” and the train came to a stop at the well-remembered platform.

Mr. Brooks did not go to the great hotel on the hill, but to a little old inn close by the water’s edge. The inn keeper knew that they were coming, and their rooms were all ready for them and supper was just being put on

the table as they drove up to the door. Mr. Brooks always went to this inn because the trip from Oldport to their home was made by boat, and this house was close to the pier. They could drive around, but it was a long, long way, while by the boat it was but a couple of miles. So old Andrew always met them bright and early the next morning after their reaching Oldport, with the big sail-boat, into which trunks, people and all were stowed away, and so home was reached.

The children were both too tired to eat much supper, and as soon as it was over went right to their rooms. Hal stood at the window a minute looking out across the bay to see if he could make out their own house. Yes, away out on the point, he saw it shining white in the moonlight, and here right below him in the harbor was a ship just setting out for sea. At any other time he would have

been much interested in watching her and the men in the boat that were rowing back to shore, but to-night he was much too sleepy, so he left the window and in ten minutes he and Dolly both were fast asleep snugly tucked up in bed.

It was a bright morning when he opened his eyes. He lay still for a moment, hardly wide enough awake to know where he was. Then he heard the splash of the little waves on the beach and that roused him instantly. Not a sound came from the next room, where his papa and mamma and Dolly slept. He crawled quietly out of bed so as not to wake them, and stole to the window.

A little way along the beach, perhaps half a mile from him, he saw a boy and girl running. A fishing boat was sailing by on its way out to sea, and a man in it was waving his hand to them. Hal made up his mind that he must be

the children’s father. But he looked at the boat and children only a minute, for coming across the bay was a sail that he knew at a glance to be that of their own boat, the Speedwell.

He ran to the chair where his clothes were, and began to dress himself with the greatest haste. Then leaving a few buttons to fasten as he went along, he stole out of the room on tip-toe, and running down the pier, reached it just in time to seize the painter that old Andrew threw him. And in another moment he was aboard; and the first thing that his father saw when he looked out of the window was Hal sitting on the Speedwell, and swinging his hat above him for joy.

While they were eating breakfast Andrew and another man carried down the trunks and stowed them away, and by nine o’clock all the luggage was on board. Meanwhile the children were impatient to be off. But much as they longed to be at their summer home they would never have left Oldport without first seeing Thalassa. Thalassa was the adopted daughter of the innkeeper, and was always called Lassie. The children were very much interested in her, for she had a strange history. It was this:

One night, about thirteen years before, there was a great storm. All at once came word that a ship was on the bar. The people crowded to the beach to watch, and to see if they could help those on board. But it was of no use. Of all that ship’s company only one came ashore alive, and that was a baby girl. How she lived in that wild sea no one could tell. The innkeeper who saw her floating just outside the surf, made fast a line around his waist, and at the risk of his life swam out and brought her in. And ever since that day when he rescued her half drowned from the sea, and declared that the friendless little baby should be as his own child, Lassie, his little mermaid as he called her, had been very dear to him. As for Lassie, she loved her adopted father better than all the world beside.

The children had often asked their mother to tell them over and over Lassie’s story, and their hearts had thrilled again and again as they heard of the great ship that in the morning had swept through the water with all sails set, like a thing of life, only to be a shattered wreck at

night, and of the little wave-tossed baby. And so they never came to Oldport without stopping to see Lassie.

They found her this morning in the kitchen. She was walking up and down the floor

carrying in her arms little Betty, who could never be persuaded to take her nap unless Lassie sang to her. Lassie’s voice was very sweet and Betty dropped off just as the children came in.

“Well, Lassie,” said Hal, beginning as he always did at the same question, “have you had any tidings yet from your family?”

“No,” said Lassie, “and I hope I never shall. I love my home here too well to want to have any one come and take me away.”

“But suppose your real father turned out to be the king of England,” said Hal. “It would be much finer to be the Princess Thalassa than just Old David’s Lassie.”

“I wouldn’t go with him a step if he were the King of England,” said Lassie, “no, not even if he were the Khan of Tartary.”

Hal had not much to say to this, as he did not even know who the Khan of Tartary was, so after a little he said good-by. “Perhaps he may turn up yet,” he called out as he moved along. “Any way, I’ll come and see you next time I am in Oldport and hear if he has.”

The harbor was quite a busy scene as they sailed across it. Here was a great ship just home from some foreign land. Away up aloft,

so high above the water that it made Dolly dizzy to look, out on the yards sun-burned sailors were furling the sails, happy, no doubt, to be home again. Here and there heavy sloops, coasters Hal thought them, were making their way slowly on.

Old Andrew, as he sat at tiller of their boat, cast his eyes up at the sailors on the large ship and sighed.

“Does it make you feel like going to sea again, Andrew?” asked Mr. Brooks.

“Aye, aye, sir,” said the old man. “It’s ten years now since I left the sea, but every now and then the old longing comes back.”

“Why, Andrew,” exclaimed Hal and Dolly both at once, “we never knew that you had been a real sailor! Tell us all about it, away back from the very beginning.”

“The very beginning was pretty bad,” said the old man, “for I ran away from home when

I was a boy. I had sometimes been to the little seaport near where I lived, and had watched the ships and had longed to be a sailor.

“But my father would not hear of it. He wanted me to stay at home and be a farmer like himself. I tried to like farming, but I could not, and so one day I sat down on a log and thought it all out, and that night I ran away and shipped as a cabin boy.”

“How splendid!” said Hal.

“It doesn’t look very splendid to me,” said old Andrew. “If I had stayed at home I might have had a farm of my own now, instead of having to hire out like any other common man. And I would never have had the thought of how I broke my mother’s heart, to trouble me all these fifty years.”

Hal began to think that perhaps it was not such a spirited thing to run away as he had thought. At all events he said to himself, as he squeezed his mamma’s hand, he would never

do anything to break his mamma’s heart, no never, never.

Andrew did not have time to tell any more of his experience then, for just at that moment the boat came alongside of their pier. In a minute more it was fast and they were ashore and at their own summer home again.

Tom and Dolly were wild with joy. They rushed about the house, into all the rooms and out again. Then they went to the tool-house, and finding here the sand-shovels that they had left behind the summer before, they seized them and rushed off to the beach, where they were soon hard at work building a sand castle that the next wave would surely knock down. They found this such fun that long before they had dreamed of its being dinner time, they were called to come in and make ready for the noon-tide meal. And such hungry little people as they were! They passed their plates twice for everything, and papa said that if they kept on at that rate they would eat him out of house and home.

In the afternoon they planned to walk along the beach at low tide to the point of rocks that I told you of, and visit a cave that they had found the year before, where they had often been. But this they could not do, for when they rose from the table and went out on the piazza they saw that a storm was brewing. Great heavy black clouds were piled up in the west, and a stormy wind was beginning to blow. The fishing boats in the open sea were making all speed to get into the quiet waters of the bay before the squall burst upon them.

Mr. Brooks brought out his glass, and through it the children could make out quite

plainly the figures of the men in the flying boats. The clouds were rising so fast that the sun was soon hidden. Far out at sea, where the sun was still shining, a great ocean steamer was ploughing its way along as if squalls and storms were something that it had no concern with; but inside the harbor, all the little boats were making great haste to get to their piers before the storm broke. But few of them succeeded, though, for while the children watched down came the rain in a blinding flood that shut out everything from their view, and they were glad to escape from it into the house.

At first they were inclined to feel very much aggrieved that they could not get their walk and had to stay indoors, and Hal was a little bit cross, I am afraid. But mamma said that she was very glad of the rain, for it gave her time to see to the unpacking of the trunks, and she said that if they would be very good they might both help her. At this all Hal’s crossness disappeared, for there was nothing they both liked to do more than to help mamma. They emptied trunk after trunk, bringing armfuls of clothing to her to put away in drawers, and so

much engaged were they that they did not notice that the clouds had broken away, until a broad gleam of sunshine came boldly in at the western windows and lay in a yellow band across the floor. Yes, the shower was over, and the clouds were fast disappearing. That night the moon came as brightly in Dolly’s window as it had ever done, for not even a baby cloud was there to dim its splendor.

The long June days went by one after another and soon July was at hand. July was fast going where June had gone before it. Many a day had Hal and Dolly spent on the sands, sometimes alone sometimes with papa and mamma, watching the great waves come rolling in and break into great clouds of foam.

The beach was not now as quiet and deserted as it had been when they first came, for now people were flocking down from the heated towns to gain health and strength from the cool sea air. The farmers’ houses all along back of the beach were full of them, and Hal and Dolly in their walks often met parties climbing over the rocks, or wading out into the shallow water to gather shells or seaweed that the tide had washed in.

They were not always pleasant people, but one day they came suddenly upon two children not far from their own age.

They were a boy and girl. The girl was younger than Dolly and looked very thin and pale. Her face brightened up so when she saw Dolly that she went up and spoke to her, and

gave her a whole apronful of bright shells that she had picked up.

The little girl was very much pleased with the shells, and soon all four were talking busily. The boy told them that his name was Will Thornton, and that his sister’s name was Ellen. Ellen had been very ill, Will said, and that was the reason that her cheeks were so pale; but now she was going to get well at once. His papa had taken a house high up on a cliff that rose above the ocean. It was more than two miles away from where they now where, and Will told Hal that they had been left on the beach by their papa and mamma, who had gone to make a call and would soon come back for them in a carriage and take them home. Hal and Dolly liked their new friends very much, and were very sorry that they lived so far away; but Will said that he would ask his papa sometime when they were out driving

to leave them at their house, so that they could spend the whole morning together.

And playing on the sands was not the only way Hal and Dolly had of passing their days; sometimes their papa took them in the Speedwell across the bay to Oldport. When he had business to transact he would leave them in charge of old Andrew, but when he was not very busy he would take them with him. They never failed to stop and see Lassie, and Hal was always much disappointed that no news from her family had come. Hal enjoyed these trips to Oldport more than anything else. It was such fun to see the sailors on the ships that lay idly at the piers. Sometimes they would be lying on a coil of rope spinning yarns, and Hal wished that he could go and listen, for he was sure that he should enjoy their stories.

Sometimes a man-of-war lay in the harbor, and Hal was wildly envious of the midshipmen

whom he saw away up in the rigging, looking as much at home in that lofty situation as if they had been born there. When he grew old enough he meant to be a sailor; that was, at least, if mamma would let him. For he had

made up his mind that he could not go unless she said yes. He would never break his mamma’s heart, as old Andrew had done, of that he was determined, sailor or no sailor.

And if there were no man-of-war in port and he grew tired of watching the men at work on the wharves, why there were the fishing boats drawn up on the beach for him to look at.

There they lay, with their sails idly flapping about the mast and with no one aboard. The men had been in too much haste to get their fish promptly to market to take down the sails, and, besides, they knew that no harm could come to their boats in that sheltered spot. Hal would wonder what kind of fish they had caught, how many, and how much money they got for them, and what they did with their money; and in fact, when he began wondering he never knew exactly where to stop.

One rainy day, when there was no going to the beach, Hal and Dolly found their way out to the tool-house. Old Andrew was there putting a great patch on a corner of the Speedwell’s sail where it had been torn. The little people sat beside him and begged for a story. “Did you never get shipwrecked?” asked Hal.

“Yes,” said Andrew. “I was wrecked, and a close shave I had of it for my life.”

“Oh do tell us all about it,” cried they both.

So old Andrew began his story. “I shipped in the Raven,” he said. “She was bound for Norway. A fine vessel she was and a fast one, and I looked forward to a pleasant voyage, for it was in the summer. And when I got to Norway I meant to go ashore a bit and see the land. But I never saw it, for the first night out it came on to blow, and such a gale! When daylight broke all our sails were gone, and the ship was drifting on a rocky shore. Do our

best there was no way to help matters. By and by she struck on a ledge. Snap went her mast and there she was a helpless wreck. The wild waves came leaping over her, battering at her with all their might, and sweeping us off into the raging sea. Many was the strong man that perished that day.”

“And were you drowned?” asked Dolly very much interested.

“Hardly,” laughed Andrew; “or I should not have been here.”

“Of course not,” said Dolly. “How stupid I was! you must have got safely ashore; tell us how you did it.”

“Well,” said Andrew, “I was swept off with the others, and at first I thought it was all up with me, and that I should never breathe again, for I was buried deep by the furious waves; but at last I came to the top; and there close by me was a spar, dashing about. I seized and clung to it, and the wind drove us slowly shore-ward.

“There were a crowd of men on the beach and they soon spied me. The surf was very heavy, so that no boat could be launched, but

two or three men stood ready with ropes tied around them, asnd when I came near they dashed in and seized me, and we were dragged out by the rope.”

“Dear me!” said Hal; “that sounds pretty dreadful, I don’t much think I will be a sailor after all.”

Andrew smiled. “It is not a pleasant life at all; at least I never found it so.”

By and by the days began to grow shorter, and papa and mamma began to throw out hints about school. Hal and Dolly tried very hard not to hear them. It was so pleasant those bright September days that they wished they would never come to an end. All the summer visitors had gone and it seemed to the children as if the beach belonged to them.

But the end came at last. Again the trunks were piled into the Speedwell and the bay was crossed. Again the night was spent in the old inn, and when the morning came the train whirled them away once more, and their pleasant summer was at an end.

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