rafford looked up from his books as his nephew entered, and greeted him with a smile. Noll thought this welcome portended good, and remembered, with a grateful thrill in his heart, that Uncle Richard had fallen into the habit of greeting him thus of late. He went up to the reader's chair, and without waiting for his courage to cool, laid a hand on the reader's arm, saying,—

"Uncle Richard, I've come to ask a great favor of you. Do you think you'll grant it? Can't you guess what it is?"

Trafford did not reply at once, but sat looking steadfastly into his nephew's face, his eyes wearing the dreamy, far-away look which lingered in them much of late, and it was not until Noll had repeated his question that he replied, musingly,—

"I'm sure I cannot think. Perhaps you wish more pocket-money, or—"

"Oh, no!" answered the boy, quickly, "it's nothing like that, Uncle Richard! It's—it's—oh, it's will you take a walk?"

Trafford's forehead began to wrinkle and slowly gather the shade of gloom which seemed always hovering about him, even in his most cheerful moments; but before it had time to cover the man's brow, and before he could utter a refusal, Noll's hand was endeavoring to smooth away the wrinkles, and he was saying,—

"There, don't say 'No,'—don't, Uncle Richard! I won't ask you to go again if you are not pleased with this walk, but this time—just this once—do say 'Yes,' uncle! There can't be a pleasanter afternoon in the whole year than this, and I've walked alone, always till now. Why, Uncle Richard, you won't say 'No' this time?"

Trafford hesitated, a refusal trembling on his lips, which he did not quite wish to utter. The boy had walked alone, he remembered, and it was a very simple request to grant; and if it was going to be such a pleasure and gratification to Noll, why not yield, and for once put aside his own preferences and inclinations? It is not an easy matter for a man who has lived only for himself and his own pleasure to put the gratification of these aside to give place to the happiness and comfort of another; but, with an effort, Trafford put his books away, and rose from his chair, saying,—

"This once, Noll,—this once. One walk with me will suffice you, I think. When shall we start?"

"Now,—at once, Uncle Richard!" said Noll, joyfully; "it's two o'clock already, and the tide a long, long way out. Don't let's wait a minute longer."

Trafford smiled a little at his nephew's eagerness, and taking his hat, followed the boy to the piazza. It was a great change from the half-gloom of the library, and the chilliness of the long, dark halls, to the bright, sunny piazza, where the light fell so warm and broadly, and from whence the blue and shining sea stretched far and wide and vast.

Noll felt sure that Uncle Richard must notice it and rejoice, even though it might be secretly. From east to west there were no clouds, and nothing to hinder the sun-beams from finding the earth and working wondrous charms on land and rock and sea. They stood for a few minutes there, one of them, at least, enjoying the wide view very much, then Noll said,—

"We'll go up the shore, if you'd as lief, Uncle Richard. It's much pleasanter that way, I think."

"Very well," said Trafford, with an indifference which was not encouraging, and they passed down the steps on to the sand. It was a silent and uncomfortable walk for the first few rods, Trafford walking with his head bowed upon his breast and looking only at the yellow sand upon which he trod. He seemed to have no eyes for the calm and gentle peace which had descended upon that afternoon, robbing the sea of its terror and making it enchanting and lovely, and weaving a mystic charm about the bare, bald Rock basking warm and purple under the sun. Even the waves murmured only softly and soothingly and with drowsy echoes, as they rippled in and out among the rocks and along the sand. Fortunately for their pleasure, Noll picked up a curious pebble before they had gone a great way. It was not an agate, nor was it like the rounded pebbles of porphyry which the tide washed up, and puzzling over this, and asking Uncle Richard, at last, to explain its nature, somehow broke the heavy silence which had been between them, and questions and pleasant talk came naturally enough after this.

Trafford lost his gloom and reserve, and followed after his nephew, chatting and explaining strange matters of rock and sea, and stopping now and then to pull over great bunches of freshly-stranded kelp to help Noll search for rare shells or bits of scarlet or purple weed which were hidden and entangled there. How brightly shone the sun! What peace and calm hovered over land and sea! He was just beginning to be conscious of the joy and loveliness which the afternoon held. It was no wonder, he thought, that Noll's blithe, unclouded heart loved such a pleasant earth, and found delight in all the hours which flitted by. But for himself, alas! all this brightness was clouded over by the ever-present, ever-shadowing darkness of the future. It might have been different if—if—But with a sigh Trafford put away these thoughts, and followed on. They lingered around the rocks in their path, black with fringes of dry sea-weed, and talked of gneiss and sienite, granite and trap; they stopped at the curve in the shore, and sat down to watch the white flitting of sails on the far horizon-line, and somehow, the sight of them led to a long talk about Hastings and Noll's papa, and happy memories of other days. Trafford was in a softened mood as they rose up from their seat on a great fragment which had fallen from the cliff above, and Noll said,—

"Come, Uncle Richard, let's keep on toward Culm. It's so pleasant, and night is a long way off yet."

If he had followed his own inclinations, the uncle would have turned about and retraced his steps, but Noll had started on, and Trafford followed, thinking, "It isn't often the boy has company in his rambles. I can humor him for once."

Slowly enough they approached the Culm houses, loitering along the moist, shining sand, over which the waves had rolled and rippled but a few hours before, and marking their devious path with straying footprints. Noll's heart began to beat somewhat faster as they neared the fishermen's houses, and he kept a keen watch upon his uncle's face in order to detect the first look of surprise and astonishment that should come across it when he perceived how the huts had been improved. But Trafford's eyes were turned toward the sea, thoughtfully and gravely, and they drew very near the village without the discovery being made. They came upon Dirk, Hark Darby, and two or three other fishermen, spreading their nets in the sun, all of whom touched their hats and nodded respectfully to Noll, eying the uncle, meanwhile, with curious eyes and half-averted faces. The sight of these men brought Trafford's eyes and thoughts back to Culm and the present. He turned to Noll, saying, with a little smile,—

"Some of your sworn friends?"

"Yes, they're my friends, Uncle Richard," said Noll, expecting every moment to see Trafford raise his eyes to the houses, which they were passing, "and they do me a great many favors too."

"In what way?" Trafford was about to ask; but just then he looked up and about him, and the words died on his lips. Noll paused, waiting in suspense for what was to come next. His uncle stood still, and looked for a full minute upon Dirk's house, then cast his eyes up and down the line of dwellings, while a look of wonder and amazement came over his face. He turned about, and looked at Noll, who could not, for the life of him, keep the bright color from creeping up into his cheeks and over his forehead, and then he looked at the houses again. A sudden suspicion came into Trafford's mind, and turning his keen eyes upon Noll, he exclaimed,—

"Can you explain this?"

The nephew hesitated, looked down in some embarrassment, then gathering sudden courage, looked up and answered, brightly, "Yes, Uncle Richard, I know all about it."

It was all plain to Trafford then. For a moment his own eyes faltered and refused to meet Noll's, and he showed some signs of emotion. But his voice and tone were as calm as ever when he said, a few minutes after,—

"You did this? How can I believe it? What had you to do with? And why was I not consulted, if this was your work?"

"Oh, Uncle Richard!" said Noll, quickly, "don't be vexed with me. You gave me permission to help these Culm people. Don't you remember?"

Trafford made no reply, and again looked at the line of comfortable, well-repaired houses. There were deeper thoughts and emotions in his heart at that moment than Noll could know or guess.

The long silence was so uncomfortable that the boy was fain to break it, with, "I've one more thing to show you, Uncle Richard. It's not much,—only just a beginning,—but I'd like you to see and know about it."

Trafford followed, without a word, and Noll led the way to the little schoolroom, with its two benches and three-legged stool and pile of well-thumbed primers and spelling-books.

"It's not much," said Noll, apologetically, "but it's a beginning, and they all know their letters, and some can spell a little."

Trafford evinced no surprise, much to Noll's wonder, and merely asked, "Where do you find the time?"

"After recitations," replied the nephew; and that was all that was said about the matter.

Trafford went out and sat down on the little wharf, and Noll lingered in the door-way of his schoolroom, thinking that he had never seen Uncle Richard act more strangely. Was he offended at what he had done and was doing for the Culm people? he wondered. He looked out and saw that his uncle had turned his face away, and was looking off upon the sea with the same dreamy, thoughtful look which he had noticed in his eyes of late. Noll would have given a great deal could he have known his thoughts at that moment. To human eyes this grave and thoughtful man, who sat on the wharf, was not a whit less the stern and gloomy creature that he had been an hour before. Yet, all hidden from others' gaze, and almost from his own consciousness, a sudden sense of regret and of a great short-coming in himself had welled up through the crust of his hardened heart. His heart had been deeply stirred, and now it smote him. His thoughts took some such shape as this,—even while he was looking with such apparent calmness upon the changing, shadowy lights of the sea:—

"This boy has done more in this short summer for his fellow-men and for his God than I have done in my whole forty years of life! Oh, what a life mine has been!—all a wreck, a failure, a miserable waste! And he? Why, in this short summer-time, and on this barren Rock, he has made his very life a blessing to every one upon it. I suppose those dirty, ignorant fishermen bless the day that brought him here. And I? O Heaven! what a failure, what a failure! I've done the world no good,—it's no better for my having lived in it,—it would miss me no more than one of these useless pebbles which I cast into the sea. And this boy—my boy—always at work to make others rejoice that he was born into the world!"

For all the calmness and repose that was on his face, he longed to cry out. Oh! was there no deliverance? Might not these long wasted years yet be paid for by deeds of mercy and charity? But where was there a deliverer? and who could tell how many years of good deeds and charity could pay for forty years of wasted ones?