hen Noll awoke the next morning, the sun was shining brightly in. It was not until after some long minutes of yawning and rubbing his eyes, that he comprehended where he was; then, with some chills of disappointment, he remembered, and bounded up to look out the window. The sea lay rippling, cool and fresh below. Here and there faint trails of mist floated and hovered over the waves, but the breeze was fast tearing and blowing them away. With a feeling of delight, he saw on the far horizon-line the white film of shadowy sails. It showed that there was life and stir somewhere, he thought, and it was pleasant to think of them as bound for far-off Hastings. Then he remembered Skipper Ben and the "White Gull," and wondered when he would return; and then Mr. Gray's note had not been written, he recollected.

"Well," thought Noll, "I'll find time for it to-day, I guess. I wonder if my trunks will come this morning? and—When am I to begin my studies, and who am I to recite to?" This last thought had not entered his head before. There was evidently not a school of any kind upon Culm Rock, and of course Uncle Richard was the only person capable of teaching him anything. "I wonder if he will offer to teach me?" Noll thought in perplexity, "or shall I have to ask him? I can't do that! he's so cold and stern; and besides, I don't believe he would like the trouble. I wonder if I am to grow up like those dull Culm people?" He dressed himself, thinking busily enough of a dozen troublesome matters which had already sprung up to puzzle him, and with these in his head, went down-stairs. He found the dining-room at last, after getting into three or four empty, unoccupied rooms, and there found Hagar putting the last dishes upon the breakfast-table.

"You's lookin' brighter, honey," said she, gleefully. "Didn't dis yer ole woman tell ye so? Ki! I knowed how 'tw'u'd be las' night."

"It does seem pleasanter," Noll admitted; "and where's Uncle Richard?"

"Mas'r Dick? He's in de libr'y; goin' to call him dis minnit. Breakfas' dun waitin' for ye both, honey; an', bress de Lord! how much ye looks like yer father dis mornin'!" and Hagar caressed the boy's hair with her skinny old hands, muttering, as she gazed affectionately in his face, "You's de bery picter ob him,—de bery picter!"

So Richard Trafford thought as he answered the old housekeeper's call and entered the dining-room where his nephew was waiting with a cheery "Good-morning, Uncle Richard." The boy's sunshiny face, somehow, made the great room brighter, Trafford thought, and Hagar bustled about and poured the coffee with a lighter heart than she had had since leaving her people at Hastings.

"Good morning, Uncle Richard"

"Jes' what's been lackin' de whole time!" she thought to herself; "Mas'r Dick wants somethin' he ken love and talk to. 'Pears like dar'll be a change in dis yer ole house afore long, de Lord willin'." It was such a long time since the old negress had seen a young face, or heard the pleasant accents of a young voice, that she made various pretexts for lingering in the room while the two sat at the table, and though it was for the most part a silent meal, yet it was a wonderful pleasure to see Noll eat, Hagar thought. And when the two had left the table and gone to the library, she soliloquized, "Nebber thought I'd see a day like dis yer, agen! Wonder what Mas'r Dick t'inks o' de boy? Bress de chile! if mas'r don't take to him, 'pears like he'll nebber take to nuffin. Be like habbin' poor Mas'r Noll's face afore him de whole time, an' ef he ken stan' dat, athought lubbin' him, I's 'feard he's dun got colder'n a stone, de whole ob him. You jes' wait an' see, Hagar!"

Noll followed his uncle from the breakfast-table into the library, hoping that he would at once say something about his books or studies, or at least hint what plans he had made concerning himself. It would be a great deal pleasanter, Noll thought, to have Uncle Richard dispose of him, even in a stern, cold way, than to do nothing at all with him and remain indifferent as to whether he studied or grew up in ignorance.

But Trafford had relapsed into one of his gloomy, absent moods, and took up a book as soon as he reached the library, without a look or word for Noll. The boy stood by one of the great windows and looked out on the sea, striving to drown his disappointment by thinking of other matters. When he had tired of this, and found that disappointment was long-lived, and would not be drowned, he loitered by the bookcases, reading the titles, now and then peering into a volume and looking over its top at his uncle, and thinking him a very cold or else a very forgetful man. When he had made the tour of the room several times, and was about to go out in despair, Trafford looked up.

"Noll, did you wish to speak to me?" he asked, abruptly.

The question came upon Noll unawares.

"Yes, if—if you were not too—too busy," he stammered. "I thought—I hoped you would say something about my books—my studies, I mean, Uncle Richard."

"What about them?"

"Why, whether I were to study with you, or by myself, or how; and whether I am to begin now, or wait a while," said Noll, wishing that his uncle would look less keenly at him.

Trafford leaned his head upon his hand and reflected a little. At last he said,—

"You will wait, Noll, till your month is up. There would be no use in beginning studies which, perchance, may end in so short a time. If, at the end of four weeks, you conclude to stay, then we will talk about study. Till then, you will wait."

Noll's blue eyes said, as plainly as eyes could, "Don't mention that month again, Uncle Richard!" but his tongue was silent, and he acquiesced in this decision by a nod of his head.

"You can fill up the time," continued his uncle, "as you like. You had best make yourself acquainted with the Rock before you decide to stay here. You will hardly explore it all in one day, I think;" and with this Trafford turned again to his book.

Noll found his hat and went out, determined to keep a brave heart if Uncle Richard was cold and gloomy. If there was no other way, he would make him love him, he thought, though how that was to be done he had, as yet, but a very slight idea. He went through the dining-room, and from thence found his way to the broad front piazza which faced the sea, and where, the previous evening, he had stood so lonely and homesick. Everything looked much cheerier to him now, and he ran down the sand, in front of the house, to the water's edge, resolved to see the bright side of everything which pertained to gray, barren Culm. There were stranded shells and bright-hued weeds on the wet, glittering sand, which made Noll's eyes sparkle with delight.

"Wouldn't Ned's eyes open to see these!" he thought, "and wouldn't the dear old fellow like some for his museum! I'll gather a whole box full and send them up by the skipper some day."

Thinking of the skipper made Noll remember his trunks, and he wondered if the "White Gull" had continued her voyage farther down the shore.

"There's a whole month to explore and pick up shells in," he said to himself, "and I'll take this forenoon to go around to the landing and see the skipper, if he's there."

With this thought, he started off, hoping to find the "Gull" still lying off the little wharf. The skipper seemed almost like an old friend, already; and, however rough he might be, he came from Hastings, and this fact alone made the boy long for a sight of his face. So he hastened along the sand, toward Culm, with an eye and ear for everything which he passed. Great boulders, all green and fringed with sea-weed, were strewn everywhere,—in the yellow sand of the beach, in the line of the tide and waves which whitened themselves to foam, and murmured hoarsely against them. In some places the great mass of the rock came down so near the water's edge that only a slender path of pebbles was left between it and the waves. In high tide, Noll thought, this narrow way must be quite covered, and he wondered why the sea did not carry it quite away. But in other places the beach was broad and smooth, quite wide enough for many horsemen to ride abreast. This morning the sea was peaceful and calm. Neither did it look so vast and illimitable as on the previous night. The tide was going out, stranding great quantities of glittering weeds and all sorts of curious objects, the sight of which made Noll's heart glad; but, without stopping to examine or preserve them, he hastened on, hoping to soon catch sight of the "Gull." But in this he was disappointed. No sooner had he passed the curve of the shore than he saw that the skipper and his craft were gone. There were his trunks to see to, however; so he kept on, though at a slower pace, wondering if those dull-looking fishermen could tell him when the "Gull" would return.

Not half so fair or comely did the dozen houses look as in the gold of sunset. Such racked, weather-beaten dwellings Noll had never seen before. It was a mystery how they could ever stand in a high gale. Not a solitary vestige of anything green was there to enliven the barrenness. Long lines of seine were stretched upon stakes, and dangled from the sides of boulders upon the shore. In the sand some dirty-faced children were playing, who got up and ran away at his approach. A little farther on he came upon two fishermen dividing a basket of fish. They looked up, stared, and nodded respectfully.

"When did the skipper go?" Noll asked, pausing.

"Ben, ye mean?" asked one of the men, suspending his labor to take a more leisurely survey of the questioner.

"Yes, Ben Tate," said Noll.

"Afore sunrise," said the other. "Did ye want the skipper, lad?"

"No, not particularly. When is he going to stop here again?"

"Ben? Why, he comes Mondays and Thursdays, he does," said the fisherman; "ye'll find him here day after to-morrow, lad,—early, too, mos' like."

"Can you tell me where he left my trunks?" queried Noll.

At this question, the men looked perplexed. "Do ye mean boxes like?" they asked, after a time.

Noll was astonished at this lack of knowledge, but managed to explain to the two what he meant.

"Ye'd best go up to Dirk Sharp's," said one; "the skipper leaves much with Dirk, he does, an' ye'll be like to find 'em there."

"Back o' the wharf, lad,—back o' the wharf Dirk lives," the other called to Noll, as he walked away.

Dirk Sharp's house was rather smarter than the others,—at least, it was in better repair; but the look which Noll caught of its interior, as he stood rapping by the open door, sufficed to destroy any anticipations of industry or thriftiness which he might have formed from the dwelling's exterior. Dirk was a great broad-shouldered, slouching fellow, with a general air of shiftlessness about him. At Noll's summons, he came lounging out of an inner room, and, catching sight of the boy, said,—

"Lookin' for yer trunks, lad? The skipper said ye was to hev 'em las' night, shore; but ye see," pulling up his sleeve, "as how I got a cut what's hindered," displaying a long, bloody wound upon his arm. "Ye sh'u'd ha' had 'em, lad, but for that, as the skipper said. But ef ye ken wait till the men get back from their seinin'—Ho! there be Bob an' Darby now," he exclaimed, as he spied the two whom Noll had just passed.

"Ahoy there, lads! here be a job fur ye!" he cried to the fishermen.

The two left their work and came up to Dirk.

"Here be two trunks to go 'roun' to the stone house fur this lad," said he. "Ef ye'll shoulder 'em roun' the shore, yer welcome to what the skipper left fur't. What ye say, lads?"

"We'll do't fur ye, Dirk, seein' yer cut," said the one who was called Darby. "Where be the boxes, man?"

Dirk led them into the inner room, from whence they presently emerged, each with a trunk on his shoulder, and, bending with their burdens, started up the shore.

Noll followed slowly after, wondering why they did not use their boat, instead of enduring such back-breaking toil. It struck him that he had never seen such dull, apathetic faces as these Culm people had. Such utter shiftlessness as everything about the cluster of tumble-downs betokened he had never imagined. Perhaps all this dreariness and desolation made itself more keenly felt because the boy was just from the city, which teemed with life and bustle and energy. In its poorest quarter he had never seen such a lack of tidiness as the interior of Dirk Sharp's house presented. He followed the slowly-plodding trunk-bearers up the yellow sand, wondering if there was such another wretched, desolate, and forlorn place as Culm Rock in the whole wide earth.