The shades of evening had begun to fall. A cool breeze made the brightly lighted parlor more attractive than the porches, and there the older ones gathered, while the mothers saw their weary little ones to bed. The gentlemen had their newspapers, Mrs. Dinsmore and Mrs. Travilla their fancy work, while the four young girls, in a group by themselves, chatted and laughed together, discussing the sights and scenes through which they had passed that day, and the bits of history connected with them.

The captain presently threw aside his paper, and taking a vacant seat on the sofa beside his daughter Grace, asked in tender tones, as he passed an arm about her and drew her close, if she felt very weary from the day's exertions.

"Not so very, papa dear," she answered, laying her head on his shoulder and smiling up into the eyes bent so lovingly upon her. "I think I never had a better time. Have we been to all the places of interest now?"

"Not quite all," he replied; "there are a few others to which we may take pleasant little jaunts in the week or so we expect to tarry here."

"Vaucluse for one, I should say," remarked Mr. Embury, laying aside his paper and joining in the talk.

"Where is that?" asked Mrs. Dinsmore.

"Over on the shore of the eastern bay, and about six miles out from Newport. It is a noted country seat, at present unoccupied except in small part by a caretaker and his wife. It has a very neglected look, but is still well worth seeing, I have been told. But here comes my Molly with a manuscript in her hand. Something to read to us, I suppose. Is it, my dear?"

"Yes," she said, with a smile; "provided you all wish to hear it. A story of the ship Palatine from Holland, which struck on Sandy Point of this island early in the last century. I have used the facts as far as they could be obtained, and drawn upon my imagination for the rest. If all would like to hear it, I shall be glad to have your opinions and criticisms before offering it for publication."

"Suppose you put it to vote, my dear," suggested her husband. "We are all here now except the little folks, who have gone to their beds," he added, glancing at Isadore and Violet, who had come into the room just in time to hear Molly's last sentence.

"I shall be glad to hear it, Molly. I always have enjoyed such of your productions as have come under my notice," said Violet, in a lively tone, as she took the seat her husband had hastened to offer.

"And I can echo those sentiments," added Isadore lightly, taking possession of an easy chair gallantly drawn forward for her by her Uncle Dinsmore.

Thus encouraged, Mrs. Embury began at once.

"Story of the ship Palatine," she read.

"Some time in the early years of the last century, a ship named the Palatine left Holland for America, bearing a large number of emigrants, whose destination was the then colony of Pennsylvania, where they intended to buy land and settle; and for that reason they were carrying with them all their earthly possessions—clothing, furniture, and money; of which some had a good deal, others only a little.

"Among the wealthier ones was Herr Adolphus Follen, with his wife Margaret, his daughters Katrina and Gretchen, and his son Karl. Also they had with them an elderly woman, Lisa Kuntz, who had lived with the Follens ever since their marriage, and acted as nurse to each of their children in turn. She had no near kin, and being much attached to the family in which she had made her home for so many years, had decided to accompany them to the new world in spite of her fears of Indians and wild animals.

"As the good ship Palatine sailed slowly out of port, all these, with many of their fellow-passengers, stood upon her deck gazing sadly, and not a few with flowing tears, upon the fast-receding shores of their native land. Ah, how much bitterer would have been their grief, could they have foreseen the sufferings that fateful voyage held in store for them! Though they little suspected it at the time, they had fallen into the hands of men so full of the love of money, so ready to do the most dastardly deeds in order to secure it, that they were no better than the worst of cut-throats and murderers.

"The emigrants had not brought a store of provisions for the voyage, because, according to the agreement, these were to be purchased of the captain and his officers. But scarcely had they cleared the coast and stood well out to sea when they were struck with astonishment and dismay at the enormous sums asked for the merest necessaries of life: 20 guilders for a cup of water, 50 rix dollars for a ship's biscuit."

"Astounding rascality!" exclaimed Mr. Embury, as his wife paused for an instant in her reading.

"Why, how much are those coins worth in our money?" she asked. "I really do not know exactly."

"A guilder," he replied, "equals 40 cents of our money; so that 20 guilders would be $8. Think of that as the price of a cup of water! probably not the coolest or cleanest either. Then the 50 rix dollars for a ship biscuit would equal $18.25. Think of such a conspiracy as that on the part of a ship's officers to rob defenceless passengers!"

"Why, it was just dreadful!" she exclaimed. "Those officers were no better than pirates."

"Not a whit! In fact, they were pirates. But go on, my dear; let us have the rest of your story."

Mrs. Embury resumed her reading.

"'What shall we, what can we do,' asked Frau Follen of her husband. 'I fear there will be no money left for buying land when we reach America.'

"'Alas! I fear not, indeed!' he returned; 'and should anything happen to delay the vessel we may be reduced to great extremity even before reaching the shores of America. Ah, would we had been satisfied to remain in the fatherland!' he groaned in anguish of spirit.

"'Ah, father,' said Gretchen, the eldest daughter, 'let not your heart fail you yet. Help may yet come from some unexpected quarter, and if not—if we die for lack of food—we may hope to awake from the sleep of death in the better land, to suffer and die no more. Let us trust in God and not be afraid.'

"'You are right, my daughter,' he returned with emotion. 'But oh, God grant I may not be called to see my wife and children suffer and die for lack of food!'

"A young man standing near, one with whom they were slightly acquainted, here joined in the conversation.

"'It is dreadful, dreadful!' he exclaimed, but speaking in a subdued tone for fear of being overheard by their inhuman oppressors, 'the way these mercenary wretches are robbing the helpless poor whom they have entrapped into their net. Every fellow of them deserves the headsman's axe, and I hope will reach it at last. Think of the exorbitant sums they are asking for the barest necessaries of life! Nor do I believe they will ever carry us to our destination, lest complaint be made of them and they be brought to condign punishment by the authorities of the land.'

"'But, what then do you think they will do, Herr Ernesti?' asked Frau Follen, gasping with fear and horror, as she spoke.

"'I cannot tell,' he answered. 'Mayhap land us on some desert island, and leave us there to struggle as we can for life. But, thank God, they cannot take us to any spot where He does not rule and reign, or where His ear will be deaf to the cries of His perishing ones. So, my friends, let us not give up to utter despair. "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?"'

"'Yes, yes; what consolation in knowing that!' cried Gretchen, tears of mingled joy and sorrow streaming down her face. 'Father, mother, sister, and brother, we are all His and He will care for us in His own time and way.'

"But who shall describe the scenes that followed through weeks of deepest distress and agony, as fathers and mothers, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters saw their dear ones perishing with famine, while they themselves were goaded almost to madness by the pangs of hunger added to their bitter grief?

"But they were entirely in the power of their inhuman torturers, who never relaxed in their demands until they had wrenched from their wretched victims every stiver in their possession.

"That accomplished, and no food remaining—unless a very, very scanty store—they, officers and sailors, deserted the vessel, going off in the boats, leaving their helpless victims to their fate, for not one of them had either the needed knowledge or strength for the management of the ship; and so she drifted aimlessly hither and thither at the mercy of the winds and waves, carrying her fearful cargo of dead and dying whither they knew not.

"To the survivors that voyage seemed like one long, dreadful dream, full of horrors and keenest anguish of body and mind. Of the many emigrants who, filled with the hope of reaching a land of freedom and plenty, had crowded the vessel at the beginning of the voyage, but seventeen feeble, emaciated, almost dying creatures were left when, one cold winter morning, about Christmas time, the now dismasted hulk of the good ship Palatine drifted into Narragansett Bay and struck on Sandy Point, Rhode Island.

"It was Sunday morning, but the good people of the island seeing the wreck, and knowing there might be in her some living soul in distress, hastened on board, where they found the poor, perishing creatures, and at once carried them all ashore save one woman—Lisa Kuntz, the nurse of the Follens, who obstinately refused to leave the vessel. She was seated upon the deck with her belongings about her, and there she was determined to stay. But she was not safe there, as the islanders well knew; for the dismasted hulk could not be secured against drifting away, and as the tide arose around it they, as a last resort, set it on fire, thinking the lone woman would certainly be frightened, and prefer coming ashore to remaining upon the burning ship. But she would not, and as the tide rose the blazing hulk drifted away, carrying her with it."

"Oh, how dreadful!" sighed several of Molly's hearers.

"Wasn't it?" she responded. "I suppose the sufferings of the poor creature must have made her insane."

"But the sixteen who were brought ashore, did they live?" asked Lucilla; and in reply Mrs. Embury resumed her reading.

"The sixteen who had been carried ashore were treated with the greatest kindness by the islanders, all their wants carefully attended to; but for nearly all of them help had come too late, and all but three soon died. Of the Follen family Gretchen alone remained, a lonely, almost heart-broken creature, having seen father, mother, brother, and sister laid in the grave soon after landing upon the island. But Herr Hubert Ernesti remained. He had been beside her all these dreadful weeks and months, had sympathized in all her griefs, all her sufferings of mind and body, and each had learned to look upon the other as the nearest and dearest of all earthly beings; so that when, beside the newly filled grave that held the last of her family, he asked her to give herself to him that they might meet all coming trials and share all joys together, she did not say him nay, or withdraw the hand he had taken in his and held in a clasp so loving and tender.

"It was from them the islanders learned the sad story of the terrible scenes and sufferings on board the Palatine; an experience poor Gretchen could never recall without tears.

"Hubert and she remained upon that hospitable island for some years, then left it for their original destination, where, we will hope, they lived out the remainder of their lives in peace and happiness."

"And that is the end of your sad little story, is it?" asked Rosie, as her cousin paused in the reading.

"Of the story of those two," said Molly; "but I have something more to read, if no one is tired of listening."

No one seemed to be, and she resumed:

"Ever since the burning Palatine drifted away that night a strange light has been seen at intervals along this coast whence she departed on that last voyage. Many have seen it, and the superstitious and ignorant have looked upon it as the phantom of the burning ship Palatine, ever drifting upon the open sea, always burning but never consumed; seen only at long intervals, as she drifts off the western coast.

"A well-known physician of Block Island, having had two opportunities of seeing it, says, 'This curious irradiation rises from the ocean near the northern point of the island; looks like a blaze of fire; either touches the water or hovers over it. It bears no more resemblance to the ignis fatuus than to the aurora borealis. Sometimes it is small, resembling the light through a distant window; at others expanding to the height of a ship with all her canvas spread; the streams, somewhat blended together at the bottom, separate and distinct at the top, the middle one rising higher than the others. It is very variable—sometimes almost disappearing, then shining out anew. It changes about every three minutes; does not always return to the same place, but is sometimes seen shining at a considerable distance from the place of disappearance. It seems to have no certain line of direction. The flame, when most expanded, waves like a torch; is sometimes stationary, at others progressive. It is seen at all seasons of the year and, for the most part, in calm weather which precedes an easterly or southerly storm. It has, however, been noticed in a severe northwesterly gale and when no storm followed immediately. Its stay is sometimes short, at others all night, and it has been known to appear several nights in succession.'

"'This light,' says another person, 'is often seen blazing at six or seven miles distance, and strangers suppose it to be a vessel on fire. The blaze emits luminous rays. A gentleman whose house is situated near the sea tells me that he has known it to illuminate considerably the walls of his room through the window; but that happens only when the light is within a half mile of the shore.'"

"But where did you learn all this, Molly?" asked her husband, as she paused to turn a leaf in her manuscript.

"From Mr. Baylor's 'History of Newport County,' lent me by my kind friend, Mrs. Barker, of the old revolutionary house," Mrs. Embury answered, then continued her reading.

"Says Mr. Joseph P. Hazard of Narragansett Pier: 'I first saw it three miles off the coast. I suspected nothing but ordinary sails until I noticed the light, upon reappearing, was apparently stationary for a few moments, when it suddenly started toward the coast, and, immediately expanding, became much less bright, assuming somewhat the form of a long, narrow jib, sometimes two of them, as if each on a different mast. I saw neither spar nor hull, but noticed that the speed was very great, certainly not less than fifteen knots, and they surged and pitched as though madly rushing upon raging billows.'"

"Superstition, every bit of it!" remarked Mr. Dinsmore, as Mrs. Embury folded her manuscript and laid it aside.

"Why this any more than the ignis fatuus?" queried Mr. Embury, in a tone that seemed a mixture of jest and earnestness. "Neither has as yet been altogether satisfactorily accounted for. The latter having puzzled philosophers from the time of Aristotle."

"True," said Mr. Dinsmore, "there are various theories advanced in regard to that. All we know certainly is that it is a luminous appearance frequently seen in marshy places, churchyards, and over stagnant pools."

"Has it ever been seen in this country, grandpa?" asked Grace.

"I think not," he replied, "but it is not unfrequent in the lowlands of Scotland, the south and northwest of England, or the northern parts of Germany. The time of year for its appearance is from the middle of autumn till the beginning of November."

"I think I have read that the people of the districts where it was frequently seen used to be superstitious about it in olden times; and that they called it Will-o'-the-wisp, and Jack-a-lantern."

"Yes; and believed it to be due to the agency of evil spirits who were trying to lure travellers to their destruction. And unfortunately it was sometimes mistaken by unwary travellers for a light, and in trying to reach it, thinking it shone from some human habitation where they might find shelter and a night's lodging, they would follow it and so get into, and sink in, the marsh, thus losing their lives."

"Is it not about time we were seeking our night's lodgings?" asked Mrs. Dinsmore pleasantly, as her husband concluded his sentence. "See, the clock is on the stroke of nine, which is a late enough hour for most of us now, when we are moving about so much during the day. Surely it is for Gracie, whose eyes, I notice, begin to droop."

"I think you are right, my dear," replied her husband. Then he requested Mr. Lilburn to lead their family worship.