Crag Cottage had been at Evelyn's desire so added to in the past years that it could now accommodate a large number of guests. There were so many who were near and dear to her, and whom she loved to gather about her, that she could not be content till this was done. Now the families of Fairview, Ion, and Woodburn were all spending the summer there; also Ronald Lilburn and Annis, his wife—though just now several of the gentlemen had gone to Cuba to learn of the welfare of Harold and Herbert Travilla, about whom their mother had grown very solicitous. They had been gone long enough for hopes to be entertained of their speedy return, but there was no certainty in regard to the time of their arrival at the cottage.

It was late in the afternoon. The elder people were gathered on the front porch overlooking the river, most of the younger ones amusing themselves about the grounds. Grandma Elsie was gazing out upon the river, with a slightly anxious expression of countenance.

"Looking for the Dolphin, mamma?" asked her daughter Violet.

"Yes; though it is hardly time to expect her yet, I fear."

"Oh, yes, mamma, for there she is now!" exclaimed Violet, springing to her feet in her delight, and pointing to a vessel passing up the river, which had just come into sight.

Many of those on the porch and the young folks in the grounds had also caught sight of her, and a joyous shout was raised: "The Dolphin! the Dolphin! there she is! the folks have come!"

"Oh, can we run down and get aboard of her, mamma?" asked Elsie Raymond. "I'm in such a hurry to see papa and get a kiss from him."

"You won't have long to wait for that, I am sure," returned her mother, with a smile. "But it will be better to wait a few minutes and get it here. There are so many of us that if we should all go down to the landing we would be very much in the way."

Others thought the same, and the ladies and children waited where they were while Mr. Leland and Edward, his eldest son, went down the winding path that led to the little landing-place at the foot of the hill, to greet the friends on board the yacht and give any assistance that might be needed.

They found all well but the two doctors, Harold able to walk up to the house with the help of a sustaining arm, Herbert having to be borne on a litter. The mother's heart ached at sight of his wan cheeks and sunken eyes, but he told her the joy of her presence and loving care would soon work a change for the better. He was speedily carried to a comfortable bed, and everything done to cheer, strengthen, and relieve him.

Nor was Harold's reception any less tenderly affectionate and sympathizing. His mother was very glad that he was not so ill as his brother, and hoped the pure air and cooler climate would soon restore him to his wonted health and strength.

"I hope so, mother dear," he said, forcing a playful tone and a smile, "and that they will soon do as much for Herbert also. He, poor fellow, is not fit to be up at all, and I think it will be well for me to retire early."

"You must do just what you deem best for your health, my dear boy," said his mother. "But shall I not send for a physician, as I fear neither of you is well enough to manage the case of the other?"

"No, no, mother, please don't!" exclaimed Herbert; "Harold is well enough to prescribe for me, and I prefer him to any other doctor."

"As I should, if he were quite well," she said, regarding Harold with a proud, fond smile, which he returned, saying in cheerful tones, "My trouble is more weariness than illness, mother, and I hope a few days of rest here in the pleasant society of relatives and friends will quite restore me to wonted health and vigor."

"I hope so, indeed," she said, "and that Herbert may not be far behind you in recovering his."

In the meantime joyful greetings were being exchanged among the relatives and friends upon the porch, and the returned travellers were telling of what they had seen and heard in their absence, especially on the coast of Cuba. It was all very interesting to the auditors, but the tale was not half told when the tea-bell summoned them to their evening meal.

Chester had a good deal more to tell Lucilla as they wandered about the grounds together after leaving the table. And she was greatly interested.

"I should like to get aboard a battleship," she said; "particularly the Oregon. What a grand vessel it must be!"

"It is," said Chester, "and did grand work in that battle; a battle which will go down in history as a most remarkable one. I am proud of the brave tars who fought it, and not less so of the fine fellows who kept up the fires under the engines, which were as necessary to the gaining of the victory as was the firing of the guns."

"But, oh, the terrible carnage!" exclaimed Lucilla, with a shudder.

"Yes, that was awful; and what a wonder—what a cause for gratitude to God—that but one was killed and so few badly wounded on our ships."

"Yes, indeed! and truly I believe that was because we were fighting for the deliverance of the downtrodden and oppressed. Don't you, Chester?"

"Most assuredly I do," was his emphatic rejoinder. "Has there been any news from Manila?" he asked presently.

"No," she said, "but we are looking every day for a letter from Max. Oh, I do hope he is still unharmed! That victory of Dewey's seems to me to have been as great and wonderful as this later one at Santiago."

"So I think. Ah, Lu, darling, I wish Max might be ordered home soon, both for his own sake and ours."

"Yes; but try to be patient," she returned, in a light and cheery tone. "I am sure we are having pleasant times as things are, and we are young enough to wait, as my father says. I am still almost three years younger than he thinks a girl ought to be to undertake the cares of married life."

"I don't mean you shall have much care, and I am sure you are fully capable of all you would be called upon to do. My darling, if you don't have an easy life it shall be from no fault of mine."

"I am sure of that, Chester, and not in the least afraid to trust my happiness to your keeping. But I am willing to wait somewhat longer to please father and to have Max present—especially as Eva's bridegroom. Oh, I think a double wedding will be just lovely!"

"If one didn't have to wait for it," sighed Chester. "Yet it is a great consolation that we can be together pretty nearly every day in the year."

"Yes, you are a very attentive lover, and I appreciate it."

Later in the evening, when most of the guests had retired to their apartments for the night, the captain and his eldest daughter had a bit of private chat upon the porch, for she still retained her love for that, and it was hardly less enjoyable to him.

"You don't know how I missed this bit of private talk with you, father, while you were away on your little trip," she said, with a loving look up into his eyes as she stood by his side with his arm about her waist.

"Probably not more than I did, daughter mine," he returned, stroking her hair caressingly, then pressing his lips to her forehead and cheek. "Pacing the deck alone I missed my little girl more than I can tell her."

"Ah, didn't you almost wish you had granted my request to be allowed to go along with you?" she asked, with a pleased little laugh.

"No, my child; you are too great a treasure for me willingly to expose you to the risks of such a voyage at such a time."

"You dear father! you are so kindly careful of me, and of all your children."

"It behooves a man to be careful of his treasures," he said. "I should have greatly enjoyed your companionship, daughter, if I could have had it without risk to you."

"I should have liked to see the warships and the scene of the battle," she said. "What a terrible battle it was, father—for the Spaniards, at least."

"Yes," he sighed. "May the time soon come when men shall learn war no more, but shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks."

"It doesn't seem as though that time can be very near," she said. "Papa, do you think Max is in much danger there in Manila?"

"I hardly know, daughter; I hope we shall hear from him soon. I hardly think there will be much, if any more, fighting for him to do there at present. But his next letter will probably enable us to judge better about that."

"Oh, I hope it will come soon!" she exclaimed in a tone of ardent desire.

"As I do," he sighed. "I cannot but feel anxious about my dear boy; though the worst seems to be over, there."

The next morning's mail brought the desired letters to father, sisters, and ladylove. The captain's gave news of the doings of the army and navy, and after a private perusal he read the greater part of it aloud to the family and friends. It told of the irksomeness of their situation, the weariness of the watching and waiting for troops that did not come, the admiral's patience and forbearance in taking the delay so quietly, the troubles with the insurgents under Aguinaldo, and the commanders of the warships of several European nations. "We know," he said, "that those fellows are looking out for the first sign of weakness on our part, or the first disaster that might befall us, intending to take advantage of it to intervene. I can tell you, father, that Admiral Dewey is a credit to his country and that country's navy. He is very kind-hearted, and takes excellent care of his men; he is gentle, kind to all, but thorough, determined, and energetic; everything under his control must be as perfect as possible. When it comes to the necessity for fighting he believes in being most thoroughly prepared, and striking quick, hard blows, soon putting the enemy in a condition where it cannot fight. He says little or nothing about what he expects, but seems to be always ready for whatever happens. The behavior of the foreign ships must be a constant worry to him, though he says little or nothing about it. The Germans here seem to study methods of annoying us. Their ships are constantly coming in or going out of Manila Bay at all hours, and on the most frivolous pretexts—sometimes at night, in a way that makes our lookouts think them Spanish torpedo boats; and should we send a shot at one of them it might cause the gravest international complications. And the German navy officers make the Spanish officers their chosen companions.

"The other day our admiral learned that one of the German vessels had violated neutrality by landing provisions in Manila. He summoned the flag lieutenant to his cabin and when the officer came—'Oh, Brumby,' he said, 'I wish you to take the barge and go over to the German flagship. Give Admiral von Diederich my compliments, and say that I wish to call his attention to the fact that the vessels of his squadron have shown an extraordinary disregard of the usual courtesies of naval intercourse, and that finally one of them has committed a gross breach of neutrality in landing provisions in Manila, a port which I am blockading.' The admiral spoke in a quiet, gently modulated voice, but as the lieutenant turned to go he called him back and added in a wrathful tone, 'And, Brumby, tell Admiral von Diederich that if he wants a fight, he can have it right now.'

"The message had the desired effect, and we have had much less annoyance from the Germans since.

"The English squadron here is equal to the German, and I am glad to be able to say that the British officers lose no opportunity to show their friendship for us. I am told that the German admiral asked Captain Chichester, the British commander, what the English would do in case the Germans should protest against an American bombardment of Manila, and that the messenger received the answer: 'Say to Admiral von Diederich that he will have to call on Admiral Dewey to find out what the British ships will do in such an event. Admiral Dewey is the only man authorized to answer that question.' I cannot vouch for the exact truthfulness of this report," Max went on, "but I can for the hostility of the Germans and the friendliness of the English. And we hear reliable reports of sailors' fights in Hong-Kong, in which British and Yankee bluejackets fight shoulder to shoulder against German seamen subjects of the Kaiser."

"Oh, that is good!" exclaimed Lucilla, as her father paused in his reading, "and I hope we and the British will always be friends after this. Don't you think, father, that joining together we could rule the world?"

"Yes; and I hope, with you, that we may always be friends; though it is not necessary that we should always take part in each other's quarrels."

"I hope Max is well?" said Violet inquiringly.

"Yes," said his father, "he tells me he is, and that he came through the battle without the slightest wound."

"I hope the President will let Dewey come home soon, and Brother Max with him," said little Elsie. "Doesn't he say anything about it, papa?"

"No, my child, except that he fears it will be months, if not years, before we see each other again. But we won't despair; it may be that the war will be short, and peace return our dear boy to us sooner than now seems likely."

The captain seemed to have finished reading the part of Max's letter which he thought best for all to hear, and was folding it up. "Mother," he said, turning to Mrs. Travilla, "the air out here is delightful this morning; don't you think it might do Harold good to lie yonder in the hammock? and that he could come out with the assistance of my arm?"

"I certainly do," she said, "and thank you for your kind offer. Both he and Herbert will be deeply interested in the contents of Max's letter—if you are willing to let them see or hear it."

"Certainly, mother," the captain hastened to say. "I will carry it in and read it to them before we bring Harold out."

And so he did. They were both greatly interested, and upon the conclusion of the reading Harold was glad to accept the offer of the captain to help him out to the porch and into a hammock, where he could lie at ease and enjoy the companionship of other members of the party, older and younger. They were all ready to wait upon him and to do whatever they could for his comfort and entertainment. None more so than Grace, whose ministrations he seemed to prefer to any other. As the days went on they were often left alone together, while husbands and wives and lovers devoted themselves to each other; Mrs. Travilla herself to her sicker son, and Evelyn to her housekeeping and correspondence, especially the letters to Max, her affianced.

Grace was fond of Harold, as she thought any one might be of so kind an uncle, whose medical skill had many times relieved suffering for her, and who had always shown kindly sympathy in her ailments. She wanted to make a suitable return for it all, so endeavored to amuse him with cheerful chat, music, and reading aloud anything that he seemed to care to hear.

He fell more deeply in love with her day by day, and often found it difficult to refrain from telling the tale to her, and pleading for a return. His mother saw it all, and at length advised him to speak to Grace's father, tell him the whole story, and crave permission to do and say what he could to win her heart.

"I have thought it might be best to wait some years, mother," he said. "I fear he will be astonished, indignant, and deprive me of her sweet society."

"Astonished he probably will be," she said, "but surely not indignant; and when he has fully considered the matter, remembering that there is no tie of blood between you, I think he will not withhold his consent, provided you are willing to defer marriage till she is of suitable age."

"I hope you are right, mother, but such a mixture of relationships as it would make—I fear he will think that an insurmountable difficulty."

"But to rob his dearly loved daughter of a life of wedded happiness he will think still worse, if I am not greatly mistaken in him. And as for the mixture of relationships, you can still be brother to him and your sister Violet, and Grace remain his daughter."

"You are the best of comforters and advisers, mother," he said, "and I will take your advice, and make a clean breast of it to the captain at the earliest opportunity."

He did so before the day was over. Seeing the captain in the grounds, he joined him with a request for a bit of private chat.

"Certainly," said the captain, leading the way to the summerhouse on the edge of the cliff. "If you want assistance in any way that I can give it, I need hardly tell you that it will be a pleasure to me to do so; especially as you are the brother of my dear wife."

"Thank you, Brother Levis, I do not doubt that in the least; and yet——" He stammered and paused, coloring deeply.

"I think you need not hesitate to tell me," the captain said, with a look of surprise. "I feel very sure you would not ask anything wrong or unreasonable."

"No; my request is neither, I think. It is that I may, if I can, win the heart and hand of your daughter Grace."

"Surely, surely you must acknowledge that that is unreasonable!" exclaimed the captain, in a tone of astonishment not unmixed with indignation. "Such a mixture of relationships—making you your sister's son-in-law, and my daughter my sister-in-law!"

"My mother's idea is that we might keep to our own relationships as they are now; and she thinks as there is absolutely no tie of blood between us there could be nothing wrong in such a marriage."

"No, perhaps not absolutely wrong, but very distasteful to me. Besides, as you yourself must acknowledge, Grace is entirely too young to marry."

"But all the time growing older, as well as more and more beautiful, and I can wait. She is worth waiting for as long as Jacob served for Rachel. And would it not be wise to give her to a physician, who will make her health his constant care?"

"Perhaps so," returned the captain, with a rather perplexed and sad sort of smile; "and if you have won her heart and are willing to wait till she is of suitable age, I—don't forbid you to tell her—how dearly you love her—if you can."

"A thousand thanks, Brother Levis!" exclaimed Harold, seizing the captain's hand in a vise-like grasp, and giving it a hearty shake.

"I don't know how to put my love into words—it seems to me they would be powerless to express it—but I shall try and hope to win a return by untiring devotion."

"She has a loving heart, and her father finds it hard to be called upon to resign the first place in it," the captain said, with an involuntary sigh.

"But let us hope that it will be for her happiness, captain; and I think we both love her well enough to resign a good deal for that."

"Her father certainly does," said the captain. "Dear child! she has been a great comfort and blessing to me since my eyes first rested upon her dear little face. She has never caused me a pang, except by her ill-health and feebleness."

"I have known her long enough and well enough to be sure of that," said Harold. "She certainly has a lovely disposition, as well as a beautiful face and form. I feel that to win her for my own will be the greatest good fortune that could possibly come to me."

"I am glad you appreciate the worth of my dear child," the captain said, with emotion, "and if you have won her heart I am not afraid to trust her happiness to your keeping. But, understand, I cannot let you take her at once."

"Yes, I understand, and shall not take any unfair advantage of your reluctantly granted permission, Brother Levis; but if I can win her consent, her heart, I shall be a very happy man, and wait contentedly—or at least ungrumblingly—until you grant us leave to become husband and wife."

Harold was not long in availing himself of the consent given. He was on the watch for an opportunity to tell his tale of love to the one most deeply concerned. He coaxed her out to that very spot where he and her father had had their private talk, there told her what she was to him, and asked if she could return his affection and willingly give herself to him. She was evidently much surprised, listened with an agitated air and face suffused with blushes, then said low and hesitatingly:

"Oh, Uncle Harold! how can you? You are so good and wise—so much older than I am—and—and father has often told me that I am only a little girl—not nearly old enough to think about—about such things—and so I am sure he wouldn't want you to talk to me as you did just now."

"But I spoke to him first, and gained his permission to tell you of my love. He probably will not let us marry for some years to come, even if you care for me in that way; but he is willing that we should become engaged if we choose, and be lovers till he thinks you are old enough to marry. And oh, darling! if you care for me, and will promise to be mine at some future day, it will make me the happiest of men. Oh, dearest! can't you love me in that way, even just a little?" he concluded imploringly, taking her hand in his and holding it in a tenderly affectionate pressure.

"I can't help loving you, Uncle Harold, you are so, so very good and kind to me. But I never thought of—of your being my lover; for I'm not wise and good enough for you."

"I should put it just the other way, that I am not half wise and good enough for you, my darling, my fairy queen," he said, venturing to put an arm about her, draw her into a close embrace, and press an ardent kiss upon her lips.

She made no resistance, and a few more words of love and whispered tenderness caused the sweet, blushing face to grow radiant with happiness. She did not deny that she returned his affection, but at length owned in a few low-breathed, hesitating words that she did.

Her face was beaming when they returned to the house, and when she came to her father for the usual good-night caress, he folded her close to his heart and gazing searchingly into the sweet, blushing face, said tenderly:

"My darling little daughter looks very happy to-night. Won't you let your father into the secret of it?"

"Yes, indeed, papa; I never meant to keep anything from you," she murmured, half under her breath, and hiding her blushing face on his breast. "I always mean to tell you every thing worth while, because we love each other so very, very dearly. I am happy because of what Uncle Harold has been telling me; and he says he told you first, so you know. And you are willing, papa?"

"Yes, daughter, when the right time comes, since it seems it will make you happy. But," he sighed, "it is a little hard for your father to find other men getting the love of his dear daughters away from him."

"Oh, papa, dear, dearest papa, don't think that!" she said, with tears in her voice. "I've always loved you dearly, and it seems to me that I love you better just now than I ever did before."

"Ah, is that so, daughter mine?" he said, giving her another tender caress; "it makes me happy to hear it, and to believe that my dear Grace will never cease to love me, and will always feel sure of her father's loving sympathy in all her joys and sorrows."

"It is very sweet to know that, papa dear," she said. "Oh, I am just the happiest girl, with so many and such dear loved ones. But even with all the others, father, I couldn't do without your love."

"I hope not, dear child. It would be hard indeed for me to doubt that, or to be deprived of yours. But now bid me good-night and go to your rest, for late hours have always been bad for you."

"Yes, sir, I know; and my dear, kind father is always so tenderly careful of me," she said, giving and receiving a close, loving embrace.

It had been a sultry day, followed by a delightful evening, a cool, refreshing breeze coming from the river, and a full moon in a clear sky making it almost as light as day in the grounds, about which the elder members of the party were scattered. The captain left the porch where he and his daughter Grace had had their little chat, and joined a group under the trees on the lawn. It consisted of Mrs. Travilla—or Grandma Elsie, as his first set of children had been accustomed to call her—her daughters, Mrs. Leland and Mrs. Raymond, and her sons Harold, Herbert, and Walter. There was a slight flutter of excitement among them as he joined them and took possession of a vacant seat.

"I am glad you have come, captain," said Mrs. Travilla. "Harold has just been telling us of your great kindness to him, and I want to thank you for it."

"Ah! what was that?" he asked in a tone that seemed to express surprise. "There are few things I would not do for you or yours, mother."

"I believe that, and you have given him the right to win, if he can, a precious treasure; and to give to me the dearest of little daughters."

"Ah, yes!" he said, as if just comprehending her meaning, "and to her father she is such a treasure as any man might covet and be rejoiced to win."

"An opinion in which I am sure we will all agree," said Violet. "I, who certainly know her well, think she is an inestimable treasure."

"An opinion in which we can all join you, I am sure," added Herbert, "and I think my brother a most fortunate man."

"That is exactly what he thinks of himself," said Harold, with a happy laugh. "Though there has to be a long, long waiting spell before the full extent of that happiness can be realized."

"How our young folks are pairing off!" remarked Mrs. Leland, with a slight sigh.

"Ah, yes," said Violet, "but fortunately they don't pair off with strangers and leave us. That makes it much easier to bear, doesn't it, my dear?"

"Yes; except for the mixture of relationships," returned the captain a trifle ruefully.

"Is the thing to be kept a secret?" queried Mrs. Leland.

"I am entirely willing it should be known in the connection," said Captain Raymond.