To Ethel and Blanche the memories of the next few days seemed, through the rest of their lives, ever like a dreadful dream. Then they were taken on board an ocean steamer bound for the city of Philadelphia in the United States of America, where two brothers of their father had settled years before. They were merchants doing a large wholesale and retail business, and were known to be abundantly able to provide for the orphan children of their deceased brother.

The address of the parents of Mrs. Eldon was not known to those who made the arrangements, so that they were not even advised of their daughter’s death.

There were no relatives to take charge of the forlorn little ones on their voyage, but they were given into the care of the wife of a soldier who was going out to join her husband in Canada, a Mrs. McDougal, a warm-hearted earnest Christian, childless herself, but with a heart full of love and tenderest sympathy for the sadly bereaved little ones committed to her care. She petted, soothed, comforted them, attended faithfully to all their physical needs, and spent many an hour amusing them with quaint stories of Scottish life and manners, of brownies, elves, and fairies; tales that would interest and amuse, yet teach no harmful lesson.

Before the good and gallant vessel had reached her destination the mutual love between the kind caretaker and her young charges had grown very strong, and it was with a heavy heart that Mrs. McDougal looked forward to the coming separation.

The announcement of the deaths of their brother and his wife, and that the children would be sent directly to them, had reached the firm of the Eldon Brothers only a few hours before the arrival of the vessel bringing them.

It was a great and not altogether welcome surprise, yet their hearts were moved with pity for the forlorn little ones, and together they repaired at once to the dock and boarded the newly arrived vessel in search of them.

They found them on the deck with their kind caretaker, Nannette on her lap, the others grouped about her.

“Ah, here they are! I’d know that little lad anywhere as poor Harry’s boy!” exclaimed Mr. Albert Eldon, the younger of the two, with emotion, and laying a hand tenderly upon the child’s head, as he spoke.

“That’s my name, sir; and it was my papa’s name too. Mamma called him that, but most folks said captain when they talked to him,” volunteered the little fellow in return.

“Ah? then I’m your uncle Albert; and this gentleman,” indicating his brother, “is your uncle George.”

“Oh I thought so for you resemble papa; at least as he was before he was taken so ill,” Ethel said, lifting tearful eyes to the face of Mr. George Eldon.

“Do I, my dear? I believe there is said to be a strong family resemblance among us all,” he returned. “At all events we are your father’s brothers, and therefore own uncles to all of you little ones,” he added, stooping to caress them in turn, as his brother was doing.

Then the gentlemen held a conversation with Mrs. McDougal in which—perceiving how loth the children were to be separated from her, clinging to her with tears and entreaties that she would not leave them—they proposed that she should remain in charge of them for a few days or weeks while they were becoming familiar with their new surroundings.

She replied that she could do so for only a day or two, as she must embrace the first opportunity to rejoin her husband.

“I am sorry to hear that,” returned Mr. Albert Eldon, “but do us the favor to stay while you can; and let it be at my house; for we will not try separating these little folks while you are with them, whatever arrangement we may decide upon later. Will not that be the better plan, brother?”

“For the present—till we have time to talk the matter over with our wives? Yes, I think so.”

A carriage was waiting on the wharf, in which Mrs. McDougal and the children were presently bestowed, Mr. Albert Eldon following, after a moment’s low-toned chat with his brother and an order to the driver. He seated himself and took Harry on his knee.

“Where are we doin’ now?” asked Nannette, peering out of the window as the vehicle moved on.

“To my house—Uncle Albert’s house, little one,” replied Mr. Eldon in pleasant tones. “You will find some little cousins, a girl and a boy, and I hope have nice times playing with them.”

“What’s the boy’s name, Uncle Albert?” queried Harry.

“Charles Augustus; the little girl is Leonora; but they are usually called Gus and Lena, or Nora, for short.”

“Are they all the children you have, uncle?” asked Ethel with shy look and tone.

“Oh, no,” he replied; “there are Albert and Arabella, nearly grown up, and Olive and Minnie; Minnie is twelve and Olive fourteen.”

“Has dey dot a papa and mamma?” asked Nannette.

“Yes; your Aunt Augusta is their mamma and I am their papa.”

“And we haven’t any; our papa and mamma both went away to heaven,” sighed Blanche.

“Where they are very, very happy, dear child,” returned her uncle, laying a hand tenderly on her head as she sat by his side.

Then he called their attention to something passing in the street, and exerted himself to amuse them in various ways till the carriage drew up in front of a spacious dwelling.

“Ah, here we are,” he said, throwing open the door, alighting and handing them out one after the other.

“Why, who in the world can they be? And what is papa bringing them here for?” exclaimed a little girl, leaning out from an upper window and scanning with eager curiosity the new arrivals whom her father was marshalling up the front door steps, and at once admitted to the hall with his dead-latch key.

“What’s that? More company coming, Min?” queried another voice, and Olive’s head appeared beside that of her sister, just as the hack in which the little party had arrived turned and drove away. “Pooh! nobody of any consequence; they came in a hired hack.”

“But they were children—except one woman—their nurse, I suppose; and papa with them! There, I hear them coming up the stairs now, and I mean to find out all about it,” and with the words Minnie threw down her books and ran from the room, Olive following close at her heels.

They heard their father’s voice coming from the nursery, and rushed in there, asking breathlessly:

“Papa, whom have you got here? And what did you bring them for?”

“These children are your little cousins,” he answered pleasantly. “Come and speak to them, all of you. They are the children of your Uncle Henry, of whom you have often heard me speak. Ethel, here, Charles Augustus, is just about your age, and Blanche might be Lena’s twin; Harry is two years younger, and Nannette, a baby girl, the youngest of all.”

The greetings over:

“But, papa, where are Uncle Harry and—and their mother?” asked Minnie, more than half regretting her query as she saw the tears gathering in Ethel’s eyes.

“In heaven, I trust,” her father replied in low and not unmoved tones. “There, my dears, do what you can to make your cousins comfortable and happy, I must go and speak to your mamma.” So saying he left the room.

Mrs. Eldon, lying on the sofa in her dressing room, looked up in mild surprise as her husband entered.

“Why, Albert,” she said, closing her book with a yawn, “what fortunate circumstance brings you home at this unusual hour?” Then as he drew nearer: “What is it, my dear? Why, actually, there are tears in your eyes. Oh,” half starting up, “is there anything wrong with Albert or——”

“No,” he said huskily, “but bad news from England reached us this morning. My brother Henry is no more; he and his wife died within a few minutes of each other. She had heart disease, we are told, was strongly attached to him, worn out with long and arduous nursing, and the shock of his decease was more than her enfeebled frame could bear.”

“How very sad! I am really sorry for you, my dear. And they left some children, did they not?”

“Yes, four little ones—a boy and three girls, the eldest only about eight years of age. They have grandparents, probably very well to do, somewhere in the West Indies, but no one knows their name or address. So the little orphans have been sent to us. The steamship came in this morning, only a few hours after the letter was received telling us all this, and which was forwarded by a vessel bound to a Canadian port but delayed somewhat in her voyage, so that, starting some days before the other, she reached port only a day or two ahead of her.”

“And you are going down to the vessel to get the children?”

“No; we went down—George and I—at once on learning that she was in, found the little folks there all right, and I have just brought them home with me.”

“But surely we are not to be expected to keep the whole four? Surely George and his wife will take two, as they have the same right as we to be at the expense and trouble.”

“I think so, eventually; but just at present, while the poor little things feel themselves strangers in a strange place, it would be hard for them to be separated; so I have engaged to keep the whole for a few days,” he replied; then seeing that she looked ill-pleased with the arrangement:

“But, I do not intend they shall be any trouble to you, my dear,” he added hastily. “The woman who had charge of them on the voyage will remain with them for a few days, and except when they are taken out for air and exercise, they can be kept in the nursery and adjoining rooms.”

“Well,” she sighed, returning to her book, “I suppose I may as well resign myself to the inevitable.”

“Do you think it more than their nearest relatives should do for our children, were they so sorely bereaved?” he asked.

“No, I suppose not; but I have given my consent and what more would you ask?”

“Nothing more, Augusta, except that you will encourage our children to be kind and considerate toward their orphan cousins.”

“Really I know of no one but their father who would expect them to be anything else,” she returned in a not particularly pleasant tone.

“I do not expect it,” he said; “yet think it might be as well to call their attention to the fact that the little orphans are entitled to their kindly sympathy. But I am needed at my place of business and must return at once. Good-by till dinner time, my dear;” and with the last word he left the room.

“Dear me! as if we hadn’t children enough of our own!” exclaimed Mrs. Eldon in a petulant tone, and impatiently tossing aside her book as the sound of her husband’s footsteps died away in the distance. “Albert needn’t talk as if they were to be no trouble to me. Who else is to do the shopping for their clothes, decide how they are to be made and find somebody to do the work? for of course if they don’t look all right, people will talk and say we don’t treat them as well as we do our own.”

At that moment the patter of little feet was heard in the hall without, the door opened and her youngest two came rushing in.

“Oh, mamma,” they exclaimed half breathlessly, “papa has brought us some cousins, nice little things, and we like ’em and want you to see them too. Mayn’t we bring ’em in here?”

“Oh, yes, if you will only be quiet. Will you never learn not to be so noisy?”

“Maybe some day when we’re growed up like you and papa,” said Nora. “Come, Gus, let’s go and bring ’em,” and away they ran, to return in a few moments leading Blanche and Harry and followed by the nurse carrying Nannette; Ethel keeping close at her side.

They were pretty, winsome looking children, and Mrs. Eldon was roused to something like interest. She sat up and took Nannette on her lap for a few minutes, spoke kindly to the others, and asked some questions in regard to their former homes and the voyage across the ocean.

Most of the replies came from Ethel, and her timid, retiring, yet ladylike manner found favor with her interrogator.

“You are a nice little girl,” she said at length, smoothing her hair caressingly and giving her a kiss, “and so are your sisters. I am pleased with Harry, also, for he seems a manly little fellow, and I hope you and my little folks will get along happily together while you stay. There, run back to the nursery now, all of you, for it is time for me to dress.”

They all started to obey, but as they reached the door, “Oh, mamma,” cried Charles Augustus, turning toward her again, “mayn’t we go down to the yard? ’cause I want to show cousins the pups and rabbits.”

“Yes, yes! anything if you will go and leave me in peace,” she replied with some impatience.

“Come along then, Ethel and the rest of you,” cried Charlie, leading the way.