ou may be sure that Noll did not fail to be at Culm village when the "Gull" and its precious freight arrived. The sky had been overcast all day and the sea somewhat rough, so that he was not certain that Ben would set sail from Hastings. But about half-past four in the afternoon the white wings of the skipper's craft hovered on the horizon, and soon after began to loom into shape and proportion. Noll first descried the welcome sight while standing on the piazza steps, anxiously surveying the sea and sky. A strong and vigorous breeze bore the "Gull" rapidly before it, and it was soon evident that it would arrive at the wharf before himself, unless he started soon. Recitations were over an hour ago, and he was now at liberty to go where he chose, and accordingly started for Culm at once. He arrived there some time before Ben and his craft, after all, and was forced to sit and wait impatiently. He could see the yellow lumber long enough before the "Gull" was in hailing distance, and knew that Ben had been successful.

The skipper came alongside at last, shouting at the top of his voice, "Ahoy, there, men! Give us a hand at this 'ere lumber, an' be spry about it, fur there's a storm brewin', an' I've got ter be twenty mile down the coast afore it breaks!"

The fishermen drew near at this summons, and as soon as the "Gull" was fast, they began to unload the cargo, under the carpenter's directions. It was carried well up the sand to preserve it from the dash of the sea and the treachery of the tide, and Noll stood looking on with a heart so full of joy and satisfaction that he forgot all about the skipper till a gruff voice cried, "Why don't ye come aboard, lad? Here be sumat fur ye that come from the city. It be a mighty thick letter, somehow. Give us yer hand an' come up, lad!"

Noll got aboard quickly enough after this intelligence, and took the packet which the skipper fished out from under his pea-jacket, saying, "I wonder if it can be from Ned?"

"How ken I tell?" said Ben, evasively. "Best open it, lad,—best open it."

Noll quickly had the envelope open, and, holding the packet upside down, there fell out upon the deck a thick little wad of bank-notes, which the wind threatened to take off into the sea before the boy's astonished senses returned to him. Ben prevented such a disaster, however, by picking up the roll and placing it in Noll's hand, with, "It's worth savin', lad, fur 'tain't every bush that grows sech blossoms, eh?"

"I should think not," said Noll, still full of amazement, and hurriedly opened his letter to see where this bounty hailed from, while Ben walked off to assist in his craft's unlading. This is what Noll's wondering eyes found:—

"Hastings, May 20th.
"Dear Noll,—I can imagine just how your eyes are staring by
this time; but you needn't be alarmed, for I came by the
money honestly. This is how it was: Papa said I might have a
new pony if I would save my spending-money till I got a
third of the sum which one would cost, and so, though I
didn't hint of it to you when I was down at Culm, I've been
laying up and laying up, like an old miser; and last Monday
morning I found that I had got the sum, and so papa made up
the rest to me. But when I thought of you and those
miserable Culm people, and how you were making a fool of
yourself (as Ben T. said), I thought I'd like to—to—well,
let pony go, and help you a bit. So here's the whole sum (if
you get it safe), and you're just as welcome as you can be,
and don't you make any fuss about it, for it's your own, and
I can go without spending-money if you can, and am willing
to too. And it's no great denial, either, for the pony'll
come sometime, I'm quite sure. So don't you worry any more
about how the carpenter is to be paid. Good-by, dear old
fellow,
"Ned Thorn.
"P.S.—I was just as dismal as I could be after I got home,
longing to go back to that dreary, dismal, good-for-nothing
Culm Rock. The shells, etc., got here all right. Give my
respects to Uncle Richard, and tell him I'll come down and
turn his house topsy-turvy for him again next summer, if he
wants me to. Don't you forget to send a letter back by Ben,
now."

Noll finished this characteristic letter with something very like tears in his eyes. "The dear, generous fellow!" he thought to himself; "how could he ever bring himself to do it? for it is a denial, because Ned is so fond of a horse! And he claimed, all the time, that he never could help at all!"

Ben came stumping along the deck with his gruff, "Well, we hev brought yer lumber an' yer carpenter, lad,—both on 'em the best I c'u'd find. One's 'bout stacked up on the sand, yender, and t'other'll be waitin' fur yer orders purty soon. He's good at his trade, John Sampson be, an' he'll do fair an' square by ye. John ben't delicate neither, an' won't mind the livin' he'll get 'mongst these 'ere good-fur-nothin's,—I looked out fur that, ye see."

"I thank you more than I can tell, Ben," said Noll, taking the skipper's hand; "and have you taken your pay for the freight and all the trouble?"

"The freight be paid fur," said Ben, "an' the trouble likewise. An' ef ye hev anythin' more fur the 'Gull' ter do, don't ye be backward, boy, about lettin' her know't."

The last of the lumber was now being dragged up the sand, and the skipper hurried away, saying,—

"Luck ter ye an' yer undertakin', lad! We be in a desput hurry to get off, fur we'd stan' a poor chance on this shore in a storm."

Noll wished the skipper a safe run to a better harbor, and went back to the wharf, where the carpenter intercepted him. He was a rough, blunt-spoken man, but was evidently "good at his trade," as Ben had said, and did not despair of making the Culm huts decent and habitable; and after a long talk with him, Noll started for home, as the afternoon was fast giving way to a gray and lowery night. His heart was full of gratitude and love to Ned, and he stopped more than once on his homeward walk to read the letter over by the gray glimmer of twilight. At first he was more than half resolved to return the money, and bid his friend to buy the pony,—it seemed such a great denial for horse-loving, mirthful Ned to make,—but as he read the letter again and again, and pondered over its contents, he began to think that his friend had more earnestness and love for kind-doing than he had ever suspected.

"I wronged the poor fellow," he thought to himself, "because he was so merry and careless all the time. And now he's sent me this great roll of bills to help those people whom he pretended to hate! Oh, I wonder if it is best to keep them?"

This question was not decided then. It took more than one day's thought about the matter before he at last concluded to accept Ned's bounty, and perhaps he would not have decided thus at all if he had been quite sure that his friend would not be greatly grieved and offended at having the money returned.

Meanwhile, the carpenter commenced operations. Dirk's house was the first to undergo repairs, and Noll took every opportunity to go over to Culm to see how matters were progressing. It was a great delight to him to watch John Sampson at his labor, and note how saw and hammer and plane, guided by his strong and skilful hand, repaired the rents, brought the shackling doors and windows to comfortable tightness, made the crooked and twisted roofs to assume something like straight and even proportions, and righted matters generally. When Dirk's habitation was thoroughly repaired, it was the wonder and admiration of all the Culm people.

"It be like what it was when I was a gal, an' all the housen was new," said one old fish-wife, who had tottered in with the others.

"Ay, mother," said Dirk, "an' it be time we had new habits to go with the new housen, eh?"

Noll had not allowed any good opportunities, wherein he might hint to Dirk that cleanliness and industry should reign in the snug new quarters, to pass without improving them. Dirk, out of regard and gratitude to "the young master," as he called him, was willing to make the attempt, and strove, in his bungling way, to impress his neighbors with the fact that they were expected to reform their way of living. But it was up-hill work for people who had lived all their life in filth and wretchedness, and progressed but slowly. Many were the hours, after the recitations were over, that Noll spent over at the little village those warm days, planning with John Sampson about broken doors and shattered beams, which were to be made strong and serviceable, or, sitting on a pile of lumber, watching the carpenter as he put in execution the plans which they had made. The children of the village were generally playing near by, in the sand, with blocks and chips,—growing up as unlettered and ignorant as their parents. Some of them were great boys and girls,—almost as tall as Noll himself,—and had never yet seen the inside of a book.

"If Uncle Richard would only hire a teacher," thought Noll, "and have them grow up with some knowledge in their heads, they'd never get so low and wretched as their parents. But that never'll be, I'm afraid. Oh! if I were only rich, how quick I'd change it all!"

But there was no prospect of any such fortune befalling him, and he usually turned away from the cluster of dirty, unkempt children with a hopeless sigh. He said, one day, while sitting on a great heap of shingles beside the carpenter,—

"What's to become of all these children, Mr. Sampson? Will they be left to grow up like their fathers and mothers?"

"Well, I don't see much to hinder," said the carpenter, with a glance at the dirty little ones who were throwing sand over their heads. "Don't think you'll ever see many lawyers and ministers out o' the lot."

"If there could only be a school here," continued Noll, "what a change it would make! But there's no teacher, no schoolroom, no nothing, and no prospect of there ever being anything!"

"Why don't you teach 'em yourself?" said Sampson, between the creakings and rasping of his saw.

Noll was silent for a few minutes before he answered, "Why, to tell the truth, I never had thought of the thing. But how can I? I don't have any time till after four o'clock."

The carpenter sawed and planed, and made no reply, being entirely indifferent to the whole matter; but his chance question had put an idea in Noll's head which was not out of it for that afternoon, at least. Could he teach those idle, ignorant children? he wondered. Would they ever sit still long enough to look in a book? And where could a room for the school be found? And where was the leisure time to come from? Noll pondered over these questions many days, and several times came near discarding the plan as impracticable. He knew that he could only have the time after recitations were over for his own, and that, at the most, would be only an hour or two,—the time between four o'clock and the supper-hour. He was quite sure that he was willing to give this time to the Culm children, if it would do any good, and if a room could be found for them to assemble in. A whole week of days went by before he mentioned this plan to any one, and then it was only Dirk to whom he mentioned it. The rough fisherman looked upon reading and writing as some of the wonderful and mysterious arts to which dull and humble people like himself had no right. He looked blank and mystified at Noll's proposition, and expressed himself thus:—

"I don' know, I don' know, lad,—we but poor folk anyway. But ye ken do as ye like, an' ef ye say so, the youngsters shall take ter books an' sech, an' ye ken hev a room where ye say, I'll say fur't. I don' know, I don' know, lad; ye mus' do as ye think it best, anyway."