The Dolphin's passengers greatly enjoyed their voyage up the Atlantic coast, yet were not sorry when they reached their desired haven—the city within a few miles of their homes.

Dr. Percival had gained strength every day and now could go about very well with the help of a friend's arm or a cane, and spent but a part of his time lounging in an easy-chair or resting upon a couch.

A telegram had carried to their home friends the information that they expected to reach port on that day, and carriages were there in waiting to convey them to their several places of abode.

Dr. Conly had come for Dr. and Mrs. Percival, as had also Mr. Dinsmore from the Oaks; the one claiming that Roselands was Dick's old home, therefore undoubtedly the proper place for him at present—the other that Maud belonged at the Oaks and of course her husband with her. Grandma Elsie had already given them a warm invitation to Ion, and Captain Raymond and Violet the same to Woodburn. It seemed a little difficult to decide which had the prior claim. Dr. Harold said it should be Ion first in order that he might still have his patient where he could keep continued and careful watch over him; and as he grew better and stronger the others could have their turns at entertaining him and Maud.

To that Dick laughingly replied that he was now tolerably used to obeying Harold's orders, so should submit to his decision, still hoping that in time he and Maud might have the pleasure of accepting the other invitations in turn.

That seemed to give tolerable satisfaction as about as good an arrangement as could well be made.

The Beechwood and Woodburn family carriages and Max's pony were there, also the carriage from Fairview for Evelyn. Max helped her into it, then mounted his steed and rode alongside, the Woodburn carriage driving a little ahead of them, while the other vehicles were somewhat in their rear.

All reached their destinations in safety, each party receiving a joyful welcome on their arrival. Chester, after a brief but affectionate good-by, "for a short time," to Lucilla, had taken a seat in Mr. Dinsmore's carriage, as he and his brother still made their home at the Oaks. Both pairs of lovers had greatly enjoyed their daily intercourse upon the Dolphin and gave that up with some feeling of regret, but comforted themselves with the thought that twenty-four hours would seldom pass without allowing them at least a brief interview.

Bidding good-by to Eva at the gate into Fairview Avenue, Max rode rapidly onward and entered the Woodburn grounds just in the rear of his father's carriage, then dismounted at the veranda in time to take part in assisting the ladies and children to alight.

"Oh, how delightful it is to be at home again!" exclaimed Grace, dancing about and gazing this way and that into the beautifully kept grounds. "I am always glad to go, but still gladder to get back."

"And so am I," "And I," exclaimed the younger ones.

"And I am as glad as anybody else, I think," said Max, "though I should not be if I were here alone—without father, Mamma Vi, and the sisters and little brother."

"No, indeed! the dear ones make more than half of home," Lucilla said with a loving glance around upon the others, then one of ardent affection up into her father's face.

"Yes," said Grace, "father alone is more than half of home to each and every one of us."

An assertion which no one was in the least inclined to contradict.

"He certainly is to me—his wife," said Violet, giving him a look that spoke volumes of respect and love.

"And I certainly know of no man who has less reason to complain of the lack of appreciation by his nearest and dearest," responded the captain in tones slightly tremulous with feeling, and a look of fond, proud affection, first at his wife, then at his children, each in turn.

"This is certainly a happy home-coming to us all," said Max, "to me in especial, I think, as the one who has seen so little of it for years past. It is to me the dearest spot on earth; though it would not be without the dear ones it holds."

But housekeeper and servants had now come crowding about with glad greetings, which were warmly returned, and then the family scattered to their rooms to prepare for the dinner just ready to be served.

All our returned travellers were received with joyful greetings at their homes, not excepting Dr. Harold Travilla at Ion; and all there seemed to rejoice that they were to be the first to entertain the cousins—Dr. Percival and Maud. They were warmly welcomed and speedily installed in most comfortable quarters—a suite of beautifully furnished apartments—on the ground floor, that Dick might be spared the exertion of going up and down even the easiest flight of stairs. They were more than content.

"We seem to have come into a haven of rest, Maud, my love," Dick remarked as he lay back in his reclining chair, and gazed about with eyes that kindled with joy and admiration.

"Yes, my dear," laughed Maud, "it would seem almost appropriate to put another letter into that noun and call it a heaven—so beautiful and tasteful is everything around us."

"Yes; I wish everybody had as good, kind, capable, and helpful friends and relatives as ours, and as able to give them such royal entertainment."

"Cousin Elsie is the very person to have large means," said Maud, "for she seems to be always thinking of others and what she can do for their comfort and happiness. There is not a particle of selfishness or self-righteousness about her."

"I heartily agree with you there," said Dick. "I have known her since I was the merest child and she has always seemed to live to do good and show kindness to all around her. She evidently looks upon her wealth as simply a trust—something the Lord has put into her hands to be used for his glory and the good of her fellow creatures."

"I am sure you are right about that," said Maud. "And her children resemble her in it. What could have exceeded the kindness of Cousins Harold and Herbert—Cousin Arthur Conly, too—when you were so ill? Oh, Dick dear, I thought I was going to lose you! Oh, how could I ever have borne that?" she added with a sob; "and I am sure you and I owe your life to their skilful treatment, their untiring care and devotion."

"We do indeed," he said with emotion; "but for their untiring efforts and God's blessing upon them I should now be under the sod—and my darling a widow," he added tenderly and in quivering tones, drawing her down to give her a fond caress. "And how kind Vi and her husband have been," he went on. "The captain is a grand good man and quite as anxious to use all he has for the glory of God and the good of his fellow creatures as dear Cousin Elsie herself."

"Yes; I don't wonder his wife and children love him so dearly; and I could hardly love him better were he my own brother," said Maud. "I am so glad he and Cousin Violet fancied each other and married when they did."

"Yes, they are the most enjoyable of relatives to us and very happy in each other."

Here their bit of chat was interrupted by a tap on the door opening into the hall. Dr. Harold had come to say that dinner was on the table, and ask if his patient felt able, and if it would be enjoyable to join the family at their meal.

"Indeed I should like it," was Dick's prompt response, "and I think too that I am entirely equal to the exertion."

"Perhaps even with only your cane, if I give you the support of my arm," suggested Harold.

"Thank you, yes," returned Dick, with a pleased look, as Harold assisted him to rise and Maud handed him his cane.

So the little journey was made successfully and the social meal greatly enjoyed. At its conclusion Harold assisted Dr. Percival to his couch again, where he lay down, just weary enough to take a long, refreshing nap.

On leaving the table, Grandma Elsie went to the telephone and called to Woodburn. Violet answered, "What is it, mother?" and received the reply, "I expect the whole connection here to take tea and spend the evening, and I want you all to come."

The captain, standing near, heard the message also, and as Violet turned inquiringly to him, "Surely there is nothing to prevent any of us from going," he said, and she at once answered, "Thank you, mother, you may expect us all."

The same invitation had been already sent to, and accepted by, the others, and some time before the tea hour they were all there, glad to meet and exchange greetings, and chat about all that had occurred since they last saw each other. And Dr. Percival, refreshed and strengthened by his dinner and a long, sound sleep after it, was able to enjoy it all, perhaps as keenly as anyone else. They talked of whatever had occurred among them during the time that they had been separated, and of their plans for the coming heated term—who would pass it at home and who go North to find a cooler climate. But it was not necessary to decide fully upon their plans, as some weeks must elapse ere carrying them out and there would be a good deal of intercourse among them in the meantime.

They scattered to their homes early in the evening that Dr. Percival might not be kept up or awake, and that the little ones might be safely and in good season bestowed in their nests for the night.

Dr. Percival improved rapidly in the next few weeks; so rapidly that he was able to make a visit to Roselands, the Oaks, and Woodburn, each in turn, and felt that he should greatly enjoy the journey to the North and the sojourn by the seaside there which awaited him, his wife, and friends.

Our two pairs of lovers went quietly and happily on with their courting, considered plans for future house-building and housekeeping, and what should be done and enjoyed in the meantime, and it seemed but a little while till they were again on board the Dolphin and speeding on their northward course.

It was the same party that had come in her on that last voyage from the South. Max was still in the enjoyment of his furlough and by his father's request now took command of the vessel; but, the weather being fine throughout the voyage, his duties were not arduous and Evelyn had no reason to complain of want of attention from her fiancÉ. Nor had Lucilla; Chester being seldom absent from her side during the day or evening. So that Captain Raymond began to feel at times that he was already losing—to some extent—his eldest daughter. He sighed over it to himself, but made no complaint to either of them.

Lucilla's affection for him did not seem to have suffered any abatement; as had been her custom, she often came to him for a bit of private chat early in the morning or in the evening after the others had gone to their staterooms; and in these private interviews she was the same ardently affectionate daughter she had been for years; so that he felt he had no reason to fear that her lover had stolen all her heart.

But she was very keen-sighted as regarded him and his feelings toward her. One evening as, according to his custom, he paced the deck after all the passengers had retired for the night, he heard her light step at his side and then her voice asking in its sweetest tones, "Papa dear, mayn't I walk with you for at least a few minutes? I am neither sleepy nor tired, and it is so seldom now that I can have my own dear father all to myself."

"Yes, daughter dear," he said, putting an arm about her and caressing her with tenderness. "I am very glad to have your company if it is not going to weary you or rob you of needed sleep." Then he drew her hand within his arm and they paced slowly back and forth, conversing in subdued tones.

"It is so sweet to be alone with you once in a while, my own dear father," she said. "I think, papa, if my engagement has made any change in my feelings toward you it has been to make you seem to me nearer and dearer, if possible, than ever. Oh, I think it would break my heart if I should ever have to go so far away from you that I could not see and talk with you every day!"

"Dear child, those are sweet words to my ear," he said in moved tones, "and I am most thankful that, so far as we can see into the future, there seems little or no danger that we will ever be so separated in this world."

"Yes, papa; that assurance is one of my greatest joys. And I am so glad that my dear father is so strong and well, and not so very old," she added with a smile and a look of loving admiration up into his face.

"I am not very young, daughter," he returned pleasantly, "though I think my natural strength has not abated, and life seems as enjoyable to me as ever. But the happy thought is that God our heavenly Father rules and reigns and shall choose all our changes for us; for to his wisdom and love there is no limit. How sweet are the words, 'I have loved thee with an everlasting love,' 'As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you.' If we are his children we need not fear to trust our all in his hands. We need not desire to choose for ourselves as regards the things of this life, or the time when he shall call us to our heavenly home."

"That is a very sweet thought, father," she said. "What a care and anxiety it would be to us to have to choose all those changes for ourselves. How kind in the dear Lord Jesus to bid his disciples to take no thought—which you have explained to me means no care or anxiety—for the morrow—telling them that 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'"

"Yes; and when troubled with cares and fears for the future we may be sure that it is because we are lacking in that faith which trusts all in his hands."

"Oh, I want that faith!" she exclaimed earnestly, though her voice was low and sweet. "Papa, pray for me that I may have it."

"I will, daughter, I do," he said; "there is nothing I desire more strongly for you and all my dear children than that."

They were silent for a moment, then she asked, "Where are we now, papa? and to what port bound as the first?"

"We are nearing Delaware Bay," he replied, "and expect to pass up it and the river to Philadelphia, where we will add Grandpa and Grandma Dinsmore to our party, then come down and round the southern part of New Jersey and on up the eastern coast to Atlantic City. Rooms have been engaged for us at Haddon Hall and there we purpose staying for perhaps a fortnight, then we think of going on up the New England coast, perhaps as far as Bar Harbor in Maine."

"Oh, I like that plan," she said; "for we have never yet visited either of those places, and I have wanted to see them both."

"I shall be glad to give you that pleasure, daughter," he said. "Now it is high time you were in bed and asleep; so bid me good-night and go."

Our travellers reached Philadelphia the next day, took on board Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, passed down the river and bay again, and up the Atlantic coast to the city of that name, as the captain had planned.

They were charmed with their quarters; rooms near the sea—looking out directly upon it—with a private porch where they could sit and enjoy the breeze and an extended view of the ocean, watching the vessels pass and repass, outward bound or coming from distant ports to the harbors farther up the coast. Strolling along the broad plank walk, four miles in length and close to the sea, was another pleasure; as were also the driving down on the beach at low tide, and the little excursions out to Longport and other adjacent villages.

Most of the days were spent in making these little trips—sometimes in carriages, at others in the electric cars—and the evenings in wandering by moonlight along the board walk.

There were various places of innocent amusement too—such as the Japanese garden and the piers, where seals and other curiosities were on exhibition.

They found the table excellent and everything about the establishment homelike, neat, and refined, and their hostess so agreeable, so charming, that their only regret was that they saw so little of her—so many were the calls upon her time and attention.

"She certainly must need an occasional rest," said Grandma Elsie one day, talking with Violet and the captain, "and we must invite her to pay us a visit in our southern homes."

To that proposal both Captain Raymond and Violet gave an unqualified assent, saying that they would be pleased indeed to entertain her.

A fortnight was spent there most pleasantly, after which the Dolphin carried them up the coast to Bar Harbor, where we will leave them for the present.