The next morning was bright and clear, the air so much warmer than that which had been left behind on their own shores, that one and all repaired to the deck after breakfast, and preferred to remain there during the greater part of the day. Mr. Horace Dinsmore, his wife and daughter were sitting near together, the ladies occupied with some crocheting, and Mr. Dinsmore with a book in hand, which he did not seem to be reading, when Elsie and Ned Raymond, who had been gamboling about the deck, came dancing up to them with a request for "more about Bermuda."

"You don't want to be surprised by the pretty things you will see there, eh?" queried their grandpa.

"No, sir; we want to hear about them first and see them afterward; if it isn't troubling you too much," said Elsie, with a coaxing look up into his face.

"Well, considering that you are my great-grandchildren, I think I must search my memory for something interesting on the subject. There are many picturesque creeks and bays. There are four pretty large islands—Bermuda, the largest, being fifteen miles long. The strange shapes of the islands and the number of spacious lagoons make it necessary to travel about them almost entirely in boats; which is very pleasant, as you glide along under a beautiful blue sky and through waters so clear that you can see even to their lowest depths, where the fish sport among the coral rocks, and exquisitely variegated shells abound."

"Oh, I shall like that!" exclaimed Elsie. "Are the fish handsome, too, grandpa?"

"Some of them are strikingly so," he replied. "One called the parrot-fish is of a green color as brilliant as that of his bird namesake. His scales are as green as the fresh grass of spring-time, and each one is bordered by a pale brown line. His tail is banded with nearly every color of the rainbow, and his fins are pink."

"Is he good to eat, grandpa?" asked Ned.

"No, his flesh is bitter and poisonous to man and probably to other fishes. So they let him well alone."

"Well, I suppose he's glad of that," laughed Ned. "The more I hear about Bermuda, grandpa, the gladder I am that we are going there."

"Yes; and you may well be thankful that you have so good and kind a father, and that he owns this fine yacht."

"Yes, sir, I am that; but I'd rather be his son than anybody else's if he didn't own anything but me."

"And I'm just as pleased to be his daughter," said Elsie.

"And I to be his grandfather-in-law," added Mr. Dinsmore, with comically grave look and tone.

"Yes, sir; Grandpa Travilla would have been his—papa's—father-in-law if he had lived, wouldn't he?"

"Yes; and almost as old as I am. He was my dear, good friend, and I gave him my daughter to be his wife."

"That was you, grandma, wasn't it?" asked Ned, turning to Mrs. Travilla.

"Yes, dear," she said, with a smile and a sigh, "and if he had stayed with us until now you would have loved him as you do Grandpa Dinsmore."

"Yes, indeed, grandma," came softly and sweetly from the lips of both children.

There was a moment of subdued silence, then Grandpa Dinsmore went on.

"There are many pretty creatures to be seen in the waters about Bermuda. There is a kind of fish called angels, that look very bright and pretty. They have a beautiful blue stripe along the back, and long streamers of golden yellow, and they swim very gracefully about. But they are not so good as they are pretty. They pester the other fishes by nibbling at them, and so, often, get into a quarrel, fighting with a long, sharp spine which they have on each gill-cover, making ugly wounds with it on those they are fighting.

"Among the outer reefs we will, perhaps, see a speckled moray. He looks like a common eel, except that his body is dark-green flecked with bright yellow spots, which makes him quite a handsome fellow. There is a fish the Bermuda fishermen call the 'Spanish hogfish,' and when asked why they give it that name they say, 'Why, sir, you see it lazes around just like a hog, and carries the Spanish colors.'"

"Spanish colors? What are they, grandpa?" queried Ned.

"The fish," said Mr. Dinsmore, "is brownish red from his head to the middle of his body, and from there to the end of his tail a bright yellow; and those are the colors of the Spanish flag."

"I'm glad we are going to Bermuda," remarked Elsie, with a happy little sigh, "for I'm sure there must be a great deal there worth seeing."

"And your father is just the kind of man to help you to a sight of all such things," responded Mr. Dinsmore.

"Yes, sir," said Elsie, "papa never seems to think it too much trouble to do anything to give us pleasure."

"Ah, what father would, if he had such a dear little girl and boy as mine?" queried a manly voice just behind them, while a gentle hand was laid caressingly on Elsie's head.

"Oh, papa, I didn't know you were so near," she exclaimed, with a laugh and a blush. "Wont you sit down with us? Grandpa Dinsmore has been telling us very interesting things about Bermuda."

"And papa can probably tell some that will be more interesting," remarked Mr. Dinsmore, as the Captain took possession of Elsie's seat and drew her to one upon his knee.

That suited the little maid exactly; in her opinion no seat was more desirable than "papa's knee."

"Now, papa, we're ready to hear all you know about Bermuda," said Ned, with a look of eager interest.

"Perhaps you are more ready to hear than I to tell," the Captain answered, with an amused smile. "At any rate, I want, first, to hear what you have been told, lest I should waste my time and strength in repeating it."

The children eagerly repeated what had been told them, the Captain added a few more facts about the beautiful things to be seen in the clear Bermuda waters—the coral reefs and the plants and animals that cover them; then the call to dinner came, and all left the deck for the dining-saloon.

Almost the whole party were on deck again immediately upon leaving the table. The older ones were scattered here and there in couples or groups, but Elsie and Ned sauntered along together chatting in low tones, as if not wanting to be overheard by the older people.

"Yes, I am sorry," sighed Elsie, in reply to something her brother had said; "Christmas is such a delightful time at home, and, of course, we can't expect to have one here on the yacht."

"No," said Ned, brightening, "but, of course, we can give Christmas gifts to each other, if—if we get to Bermuda in time to buy things. I s'pose there must be stores there."

"Surely, I should think. I'll ask mamma or papa about it."

"Have you any money?"

"Yes; I have two dollars I've been saving up to buy Christmas gifts. How much have you?"

"Fifty cents. It isn't much, but it will buy some little things, I guess."

"Yes, of course it will. But, oh, Ned, Christmas comes Monday. To-morrow is Sunday; so we couldn't do any shopping, even if we were on the land; and we may as well give it up."

"Yes, but we are having a very good time here on the 'Dolphin,' aren't we, Elsie?"

"Yes, indeed! and it would be really shameful for us to fret and worry over missing the usual Christmas gifts and pleasures."

The two had been so absorbed in the subject they were discussing that they had not noticed an approaching step, but now a hand was laid on a shoulder of each, and their father's loved voice asked, in tender tones: "What is troubling my little son and daughter? Tell papa, and perhaps he may find a way out of the woods."

"Yes, papa; they are not very thick woods," laughed Elsie. "It is only that we are sorry we can't have any Christmas times this winter, or remember anybody with gifts, because we can't go to any stores to buy anything."

"Are you quite sure of all that, daughter?" he asked, with a smile, smoothing her hair caressingly as he spoke.

"I thought I was, but perhaps my father knows better," she answered, with a pleased little laugh.

"Well, I think a man of my age ought to know more than a little girl of yours. Don't you?"

"Oh, yes, indeed! and I know my father knows many, many times more than I do. Is there any way for us to get gifts for all these dear folks on the yacht with us, or for any of them, papa?"

"Yes, I remembered Christmas when we were getting ready to leave home, and provided such gifts as seemed desirable for each one of my family to give to others. I will give you each your share to-night before you go to your berths, and you can decide how you will distribute them—to whom you will give each one."

"But, papa, I——" Elsie paused, blushing and confused.

"Well, dear child, what is it?" asked her father, in gentle, affectionate tones.

"I was thinking, papa, that they could hardly be our gifts when you bought them and with your own money, not ours."

"But I give them to you, daughter, and you may keep or give them away, just as you like. That makes them your gift quite as truly as if they had been bought with your own pocket money. Does it not?"

"Oh, yes, papa, so it seems to me, and I know it does since you say so," exclaimed Elsie joyously; Ned joining in with, "Oh, that's just splendid, papa! You are the best father in the world! Elsie and I both think so."

"Well, it is very pleasant to have my children think so, however mistaken they may be," his father said, with a smile and an affectionate pat on the little boy's shoulder. "Well, my dears, suppose we go down at once and attend to these matters. It will be better now than later, I think, and not so likely to keep you from getting to sleep in good season to-night."

The children gave an eager, joyful assent, and their father led them down to the stateroom occupied by Violet and himself, and opening a trunk there, brought to light a quantity of pretty things—ribbons, laces, jewelry, books and pictures; also cards with the names of the intended recipients to be attached to the gifts, as the young givers might see fit.

That work was undertaken at once, their father helping them in their selection and attaching the cards for them. It did not take very long, and they returned to the deck in gay spirits.

"For what purpose did you two children take papa down below? or was it he who took you?" asked Lucilla, laughingly.

"I think it was papa who took us," said Elsie, smiling up into his face as she spoke. "Wasn't it, papa?"

"Yes," he said, "and whoever asks about it may be told it was father's secret conference."

"Oh," cried Lucilla, "it is a secret then, is it? I don't want to pry into other people's affairs; so I withdraw my question."

"Perhaps papa intends to take his other children—you and me, Lu—down in their turn," remarked Grace, laughingly, for she was sitting near her father, and had overheard the bit of chat.

"I really had not thought of doing so," said the Captain, "but it is a good idea. Come, now, both of you," he added, leading the way. "I suppose you two have not forgotten that to-morrow will be Sunday and the next day Christmas?" he said, inquiringly, as they reached the saloon.

"Oh, no, papa; you know you helped us, before we left home, in selecting gifts for Mamma Vi and the children and others," said Grace. "But how are we going to keep Christmas here on the yacht?"

"Pretty much as if we were at home on the land," he answered, with a smile. "There is a Christmas tree lying down in the hold. I intend having it set up here early Monday morning, and some of the early risers will perhaps trim it before the late ones are out of bed. Then it can be viewed, and the gifts distributed when all are ready to take part in the work and fun. Now, if you wish I will show you the gifts I have prepared for my family—not including yourselves," he interpolated, with a smile. "Our guests and servants here and the crew of the vessel."

The offer was gladly accepted, the gifts viewed with great interest and pleasure, the girls chatting meanwhile with affectionate and respectful familiarity with their loved father.

"I like your plan, father, very much indeed," said Lucilla; "and as it is easy and natural for me to wake and rise early, I should like to help with the trimming of the tree, if you are willing."

"Certainly, daughter, I shall be glad to have you help—and to put the gifts intended for you on afterward," he added, with a smile.

"Yes, sir; and perhaps your daughters may treat you in the same way," she returned demurely. "I suppose you would hardly blame them for following your example?"

"I ought not to, since example is said to be better than precept. We will put these things away now, go back to our friends on deck, and try to forget gifts until Christmas morning."