It was growing late, and Evelyn's guests, accustomed to keeping early hours while at Crag Cottage, had nearly all retired to their rooms for the night. But Chester Dinsmore and Lucilla Raymond were just returning from a stroll down the river bank, and as they neared the house they could see the captain pacing the front porch.

"There is papa now," said Lucilla. "I am afraid he will think I have been out rather late."

"Are you afraid of a scolding?" asked Chester.

"No; I may get a gentle reproof, but nothing worse. Papa never really scolds; but I can't bear to have him displeased with me. My dear, dear father! I believe I give him all the love that would have been divided between him and my mother had she lived."

"I am not surprised at that," returned Chester, "for he is certainly worthy of it. I have learned to love and honor him myself as if I were his own son."

"Oh, Chester, how glad I am to hear you say that!" exclaimed Lucilla.

But that ended the talk, for they were at the foot of the porch steps, and the captain spoke, addressing them. "Ah, so here you are at last, my dears. I was beginning to feel a trifle anxious lest something had befallen you."

"Oh, no, father! we are all right," exclaimed Lucilla, in lively tones, "but the bewitching moonlight and pleasant breeze tempted us to linger longer than usual. I hope you are not vexed with us?"

"Not very seriously, daughter," he said, with a smile, "but it is high time now that you were getting ready for your night's rest. I want you to have plenty of that, and I know you like to be up early."

"Yes, indeed, father; for my early walks and talks with you are among my greatest pleasures."

"Your father in the morning, your lover at night," Chester said, with a pleasant laugh. "I'm glad and thankful, captain, that you let me have her for something like half the time. Good-night, now! and pleasant dreams to you both," he added, turning away and passing into the house, hardly waiting for their return of his parting good wishes.

"Now I suppose I must say good-night and go too," Lucilla said, putting her arms about her father's neck and looking up lovingly into his face.

"I shall take about five minutes of your society first," he returned, smiling and patting her cheek. "I have something to tell you; something that will, perhaps, be a little surprise to you."

"Nothing bad, I hope, father?"

"No, not exactly bad—though I must own it is something of a trial to me. Your sister Grace has followed your bad example, and given the first place in her heart to another; my consent has been asked, given, and they are engaged, though not to marry for the next five years."

"Father!" exclaimed Lucilla, in a tone of utter astonishment, "to whom? Chester's brother Frank?"

"What a guess!" laughed her father. "No; try again."

She reflected a moment, then—"It can't be Uncle Harold?" she ventured, in a tone that seemed to say that that was hardly possible. "He is surely much too old for her."

"Unfortunately I cannot make that objection, since there is some years' less difference in their ages than in your Mamma Vi's and mine."

"Oh, papa! and are they really lovers, and engaged?"

"Yes; though such a match is very distasteful to me—simply on account of the mixed-up relationship that their marriage would bring about; but when I found the fancy and affection were mutual, I could not withhold my consent."

"You dear father! you are always so kindly considerate of other people's welfare and happiness," she said in tones tremulous with emotion. "I am sure nobody ever had a kinder, better father than ours."

"It is most pleasant to have my daughter think so, whether I deserve it or not," he said low and tenderly, holding her close to his heart and pressing kisses on her forehead, cheek, and lips. "Now go and make yourself ready for bed," he added, "and don't let this bit of surprising news keep you from sleeping. I want my dear eldest daughter fresh and bright for my entertainment in the morning."

The house being so full, Lucilla, Grace, and Evelyn shared the same room. Grace was in bed, but not asleep as usual, Eva preparing for rest, when Lucilla came in from her talk with her father. She glanced at her sister, and seeing her eyes closed thought her sleeping.

"Oh, Eva!" she whispered to her friend, "do you know—have you heard the news?"

"News? No. I have been busy about household matters, and no one has told anything. What is it—war news?"

"No, oh, no!" glancing smilingly toward Grace; "something even more interesting, I think, unless Max were concerned in it. It is that we have another pair of lovers in the house—Gracie there and Uncle Harold. I'll have to quit calling him 'uncle,' though, since he is to be my brother one of these days."

"Is it possible! Well, he has won a prize, I think."

Grace was not asleep now; her wide open eyes were fixed upon the two girls and her cheeks rosy with blushes. "No, it's I that have, Eva," she said. "I don't know how anybody so good and wise and kind could take a fancy to poor silly little me!"

At that Lucilla ran to the bed, threw her arms about her sister, and showered kisses upon her lips and cheeks. "You dear, dear thing! you are neither poor nor silly," she said. "I think the only wonder is that all the men don't fall head over ears in love with you. They certainly would if they had good sense, taste, and discernment."

At that Grace indulged in a peal of low, soft laughter. "You funny girl!" she said. "I am glad indeed that they are not so silly, for what in the world could I do with so many lovers? One is quite a plentiful supply for me."

"That's right, Gracie," exclaimed Evelyn. "I'm sure one such as mine should be quite enough for anybody."

"Well, I'm not going to say 'Uncle Harold' any more," laughed Lucilla.

"No, he doesn't want either of us to," said Grace. "But now I suppose both he and papa would say I must try to go at once to sleep."

"Yes; so I'll stop hugging and kissing you, and be quiet as a mouse, getting ready for bed, so as not to keep you awake," said Lucilla, giving her a final loving embrace, then gliding away from the bed to the toilet table.

"Do you think Max will like it?" asked Evelyn, in an undertone.

"Yes, I do. He and Harold have always been good friends. But as papa says, it will make an unpleasant mixture of relationships. He will be brother-in-law to Grace besides being her own father," she added, with a slight laugh; "yet I know very well she will always remember that he is her father—her dearly loved and honored father."

"I am certain of it," said Evelyn; "and that she would never make the match without her father's knowledge and consent."

"No, indeed!" responded Lucilla, turning a loving look upon the now sleeping Grace.

Lucilla had scarcely left her father on the porch when Violet joined him there.

"I thought it possible, Levis, that you might not object to your wife's company in your walk here," she said in a lively tone, and slipping her hand into his arm.

"Object, my darling, light of my eyes and joy of my heart!" he said in a loving, mirthful tone, bending down to kiss the sweet lips. "Yours is the sweetest companionship I know of. I should be glad to think mine was as delightful to you."

"As I don't know how to measure either one, I can only say that it is the most delightful of all in the world to me," she returned with a happy laugh. Then in a somewhat graver tone, "Oh, my dear husband, you don't know how dearly I and all your children love you! Neither Elsie nor Ned is ever willing to go to bed without your fatherly good-night caresses, and they always bewail the necessity for doing that when you are away from home."

"Probably not regretting it more than their father does," he said. "Yes, the love of my children is a highly esteemed blessing to me, and, unfortunately, I cannot help feeling it something of a grief and disappointment when I learn that their tenderest affection has been transferred to another."

"Ah, you are thinking of Grace and Harold. But be comforted, my dear; I am certain that Grace does not love her father less because Harold has won a place in her heart. I do not love my dear mother any the less for loving you, my dear husband, or you any the less for loving her."

"I am glad to hear it, my darling," he said, tenderly pressing the hand she had laid in his.

"And surely we cannot blame my brother and your daughter for loving each other when they are both so worthy of affection that no one who knows them can help giving it to them."

"You are a special pleader, my dear," he said with a smile; "and they hardly need one with me, for I am fond of them both—particularly of my frail young daughter."

"Ah, and does not that cause you to rejoice that she loves, and is beloved by, a good and successful physician?"

"That is a cause for thankfulness, my dear," he returned pleasantly. "But shall we not go in now and retire to rest? It is growing late."

"Yes, if you have finished your evening promenade; I don't want to rob you of that."

"I think I have taken sufficient exercise, and now prefer rest and sleep," he answered laughingly, as he drew her on toward the doorway.

As Lucilla came tripping down the stairway the next morning, Harold was passing through the lower hall.

"Good-morning, Lu," he said, looking up at her.

"Good-morning, Dr. Travilla," she returned demurely.

"What!" he exclaimed, "what's that you are calling me?"

"Dr. Travilla. That's your name, isn't it?"

"Yes—to strangers and people not related to me; but—you called me 'uncle' yesterday."

"But you're not my uncle, and it seems you intend to become my brother-in-law, so——"

"So Harold without the 'uncle' would be the most appropriate name, wouldn't it?"

"Perhaps so, if—if you won't think it disrespectful."

"Not a bit of it. Call me Harold, or I'll be very apt to call you Mrs. Dinsmore one of these days."

They ended with a laugh and cordial handshaking, just as the captain appeared in the outer doorway. Then they joined him in a stroll about the grounds.

"There is a dark cloud in the east," remarked Lucilla, in a regretful tone; "we are likely to have a rainy day, are we not, papa?"

"Yes," he said, "but it need not necessarily be an unpleasant one. We may find plenty of indoor employment and recreations."

"Yes," said Harold, "there have been many pleasant rainy days in my past experiences. And they are not so bad for a strong, healthy man, even if he must go out in the rain."

"And when gardens and fields are needing rain, we long and pray for it," added Lucilla.

"How is Grace this morning?" asked Harold.

"She was still sleeping when I left the room," replied Lucilla; "but probably she is up and ready for the call to breakfast by this time."

"And there it is," said the captain, as the sound of the ringing of a hand-bell came from the house; "so let us go in and not keep the others waiting."

They met Violet and Grace in the hall as they entered, and it was pretty to see the latter's blush and smile as Harold greeted her.

The clouds were increasing and growing darker, and before they left the table the rain had begun to fall. So they talked of indoor occupations and amusements.

"We might have a little fun, if everybody's willing," remarked Ned Raymond, giving Mr. Lilburn a significant look and smile.

"Yes; little boys—big ones too—can generally get up some fun among themselves when they try," was Cousin Ronald's answering remark, without the slightest indication that he took Ned's hint.

"And I know Cousin Ronald is very kind about helping in that," returned Ned insinuatingly.

"Yes, he is fond of giving pleasure to his young friends," remarked Mrs. Lilburn, with a loving smile up into her husband's face. "I think, Ned, he will help you to some before the day is over."

They were on the porch, for there was no wind at the moment to drive the rain in upon them, and it was cooler there than within doors. As Annis finished speaking there was a sudden cry of distress, seemingly coming from the river just below. "Help! help! I shall drown! nobody will help me!"

It was a man's voice and there was a foreign accent in the tones. It made quite a stir in the little assembly on the porch, the lads exclaiming: "Oh, the poor fellow! Can't we help him, Grandma Elsie? Surely the men on the Dolphin will do what they can!" But hardly were the words spoken when another voice called out in reply to the first:

"Hould on there, me jewel, an' I'll give ye a lift. I'm the b'ye that kin do it."

"Oh, I hope he will get him out!" cried Ned, in great excitement. "Papa, you'll let them take him on board the yacht, won't you?"

"Certainly, if he wishes to be taken there," replied the captain, with a smiling glance at Cousin Ronald.

Just then the second voice called out, "Here he is—the half drownded Frenchman; an' now will the likes of yees aboord that craft take 'im in an' dry 'im off?"

"Of course; that's exactly what the captain would do if he were here," answered a third voice, which sounded exactly like that of the man at present in charge of the yacht.

"Oh, I'm glad he didn't drown!" exclaimed Elsie Raymond, with a sigh of relief.

"I presume such people don't often drown, Elsie dear," laughed her mother.

"Oh, mamma, I often hear of people drowning," said the little girl. "And, Uncle Harold, don't they need a doctor when they are nearly drowned?"

"They are very apt to," he replied with a slight laugh. "Do you want me to go down now and see about that man?"

"If you could, without getting wet," she answered hesitatingly.

"Suppose I go," said her Uncle Herbert; "I'm pretty well now, and am perhaps almost as skilful a physician as my older brother."

But now the captain interposed.

"I can't have either of my young brothers expose himself to this rain, for the men on the yacht are quite competent to deal with that Frenchman's case."

"I should say so indeed," said Mr. Lilburn gravely, "for it is not likely that he was in the water many minutes. So, my wee bonny bairnie Elsie, dinna fash yersel' ony mair aboot him," he concluded, with an affectionate look and smile into the face of the little girl.

"Oh, Cousin Ronald, did you do it all?" exclaimed Ned. "Dear me, how stupid I am! I might have known it was you."

"I doubt if you really know it yet, laddie," laughed the old gentleman.

Ned turned to his father. "Papa, may I take an umbrella and just run down to the Dolphin for a few minutes to ask about it?"

"It is not worth while," replied the captain; "I am very sure you would make no discoveries."

"Then it was you, Cousin Ronald, wasn't it, now? Please own up," exclaimed Ned, with a laughing look into the old gentleman's face.

"Folk shouldna find fault with what they've asked for," was the old gentleman's non-committal rejoinder.

"Oh, no, sir! no indeed! but I was not meaning to find fault," laughed Ned; "I think it was good fun, and hope you will give us more of it."

Just as he pronounced the last word a fierce bark, seemingly that of a very large dog, followed instantly by a scream as if a woman were in pain and terror, startled them all, and there were outcries of affright from the children, while several of the grown people started to their feet and looked anxiously in the direction of the sounds, which had seemed to come from the vicinity of the porch, but a little farther toward the rear of the house.

Another bark from the dog, then a woman's voice in tones of wild affright, "Oh, somebody help, help! this dog will tear me to pieces."

Mr. Leland and Walter Travilla stepped quickly to the end of the porch nearest the sounds and looked around the corner of the house, but instantly reported that neither woman nor dog was to be seen.

"Oh, another sell from Cousin Ronald!" laughed Ned. "Oh, there it is again!" for just then there was a sound as of a loud knock at a side door, and a man's coarse voice thundering, "Let me in oot o' this rain, ye slowgoing, good-for-naught biddies. Let me in, I say, and be quick about it."

A woman's scream followed instantly, "Oh, captain, or some o' you gentlemen, come here quick and save us from this drunken rascal."

Some of those on the porch were a little startled for an instant, but a laugh quickly followed, and the fun went on for some minutes—bees, mice, chickens, and puppies being heard, but not seen or felt.

But the rainfall was growing heavier, and at length Harold suggested that it might be well for Grace, if not for all, to go within doors to escape the dampness.

Nearly all at once complied with the suggestion, and Mrs. Travilla, inviting Grace to a seat by her side, said low and tenderly:

"Harold gave me a piece of news last night that has made me very happy. I hope one of these days to number you among my dear daughters, and shall feel most happy in doing so."

"Oh, Grandma Elsie, it is so kind in you to say that!" returned Grace tremulously, but blushing with pleasure as she spoke; "it will be very sweet to have you for my mother, for I have loved you dearly ever since I first saw you."

At that moment Walter came and took a seat on the other side of her.

"Oh, Gracie," he said in an undertone, "I am so glad of Harold's news—that I am to have you for a sister at some future day. I'll try to be a good brother to you."

"And I certainly intend to do my best to be a good sister to you, Walter," she answered in the same low tone, and with a vivid blush and one of her sweetest smiles.

"Thanks," he said. "I wish the wedding was to take place directly; some time this fall, at least. Couldn't we coax your father to allow it?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Papa would never allow it, and I—don't believe I could consent myself. Really, the very thought of doing anything so important so suddenly more than half frightens me."

"Harold is a mild, good-natured kind of fellow; you needn't be afraid of him," laughed Walter.

"No, not of him exactly," returned Grace, laughing a little also and blushing quite a good deal, "but of—of the sudden change in my way of life—leaving my father and all the rest of my family."

But there the talk between them ended for the time, for Harold's near relatives came up, one after another, to tell Grace how welcome a new member of their near connection she would be. Chester Dinsmore was the only one who expressed any regret, and that not to Grace, but to Lucilla.

"I am sorry for my brother Frank," he said. "He has been desperately in love with her, but your father would not let him speak. And I thought it would be pleasant to be so closely and doubly connected—two sisters marrying brothers."

"I am sorry, since it disappoints you," said Lucilla. "But I hope Frank will soon get over his disappointment and find some one who will suit him still better. Besides, Grace being so delicate, it is well for her to get into the hands of a good physician."

"True enough," returned Chester, "and we may as well look at it in that way, for there is no use in fretting over what can't be helped."

September had come; the summer heat was over and business called the gentlemen of our party to their more southern homes. Preparations began, and one little company after another departed, leaving the rest feeling somewhat lonely and dull without them. The captain and his family, Grandma Elsie, Evelyn, and Mr. and Mrs. Lilburn were to go in the yacht, which carried them away a few days later—down the Hudson River and down the Atlantic coast to the seaport near their Southern homes.

A joyous welcome from lovers, relatives, and friends awaited them there. Then followed the fall, winter, and early spring months, filled up and made delightful by the accustomed round of study, needlework, social calls, and visits, interspersed with religious duties and charitable work, etc.

Evelyn was often at Woodburn, and she and Lucilla made many pretty things for the adornment of their future homes. The weddings were to be postponed till Max came home, and to their disappointment that home-coming was deferred month after month till Chester grew exceedingly weary of waiting. Letters were received occasionally from Max, but he knew no more than they when he would be able to rejoin them and claim his bonny bride. The waiting was doubtless harder for him than for Chester or either of the girls. They indeed seemed to take it quietly and contentedly.

Grace was very happy with her lover close at hand and often visiting her professionally or otherwise. And with her this state of things seemed to be conducive to health; she grew rosier, stronger, gayer, and more lively in her speech and manner than she had ever been before. So great a joy was it to her father to perceive the change that he soon fully forgave Harold for seeking her affection while she was still so young and feeble. Harold seemed to be waiting very patiently, and when Chester grumbled at his long enforced wait, Lucilla sometimes playfully called his attention to the good example set him by Harold.

"But there isn't the same need of waiting in our case," he would reply, "for, I am thankful to say, you are as healthy a girl as any that I know of."

"Yes; but think of the disappointment to Max and Eva if we shouldn't wait for them, when we can be together almost as much as if we were married, and all the time doing things to make our new home as lovely as possible."

The continuance of war in the Philippines, a cause of more or less regret to everybody, was doubly so to Max's friends and relatives, because it delayed his return month after month. They missed him particularly when Christmas time came and he was not there to share in the pleasant exchange of gifts and greetings. They had sent gifts to him, hoping they would reach him in good season, and as usual they bestowed them upon each other. For weeks beforehand Violet had spent a good deal of time in her studio, and the result was a handsome portrait of the captain for each of his older daughters. They were highly pleased with them, saying that nothing else could have given them so much pleasure. The captain's gifts to them and Violet were valuable books and some fine paintings for their walls.

"You see, Chester," Lucilla said, when exhibiting hers to him, "that we are getting more and more for the adornment of our home while we wait for it."

"Adornment which could go on just as well if we were already in it," he returned, with a rather rueful laugh.

"Well, for your consolation please remember that it is near enough to be looked at every day," replied Lucilla, in a sprightly tone. "And see here what your fiancÉe has prepared for you," drawing a small package from her pocket as she spoke.

"Thanks! Some of her own work, I hope," he said, with a gratified look and smile.

"Yes, I would have you enjoy as much of my work as possible."

He had it opened now, and found it a beaded purse.

"Oh, how handsome!" he cried. "Many, many thanks, dearest! I have no need of a reminder of you, but if I had, this would be one every time I looked at it. Now here is my gift to you," taking in his turn a little package from his pocket and putting it in her hand. It was a miniature of himself—a fine likeness—attached to a beautiful gold chain.

"Oh, it is excellent, and nothing could have pleased me better!" she exclaimed, as she examined it.

Harold had the same sort of gift for Grace, and she had embroidered for him a set of fine linen cambric handkerchiefs, with which he seemed greatly pleased.

Every member of that family, and each of the others in the connection, had prepared some gift of more or less value for each of the others, for their servants and dependents, and for the neighbors poor enough to need assistance from those able to give it.

As usual there was a grand dinner at Ion, to which all the connection were invited; and pretty much the same thing was repeated at Woodburn on New Year's day. Max was missed and talked of at both gatherings, always being mentioned as one of whom they were proud and fond, while to Evelyn and the Woodburn family his absence detracted much from the enjoyment of the festivities. Yet they comforted themselves with the hope that the trouble in the Philippines would soon be over, and he allowed to return to his home and dear ones, now so anxious to see him, and to claim his promised wife.