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.