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.