he days went by,—busy enough for Noll with lessons and the afternoon lesson at Culm,—and John Sampson's labors began to draw to a close. The carpenter had worked steadily and faithfully, and the result was a gratifying one to more than one person. True, the houses were not models of elegance; that was not needed; and they did look somewhat patchy, with here and there a fresh new board over the old weather-beaten gray of the dwelling, and new doors staring blank and yellow out of the dinginess of their surroundings; but, if they were not handsome, they were thoroughly repaired and now stood warmer and more comfortable than any of the present generation of Culm people had ever known them.

If they could only have a coat of paint or whitewash to make them look fresh and cheerful, what an improvement it would be! Noll thought. How the sun would gleam upon them with his last ruddy rays as he sank into the sea! How fair and pleasant they would look from the sea, when the coast first came upon the mariner's vision! It would be one bright spot against the black background of the Rock,—those twelve houses,—if only they might have a coat of fresh white paint. But after counting his stock of money, this desire was obliged to remain ungratified; for there was the carpenter's bill, which would shortly be due, and must be paid upon the completion of the work.

"The houses must wait till—till another year," Noll thought, with something like a sigh; "they can wait, after all, for the painting isn't really necessary, though it would improve them wonderfully! And I'm thankful enough that I can pay the carpenter. Oh, but I wonder if Ned ever regrets his denial, and longs for the pony?"

Letters came down from Ned Thorn with almost every trip of the "Gull," but not a word about the pony did they contain, nor the least sentence which Noll could interpret to mean a sigh or regret for the pet which he had given up. If Ned felt any regret, it was all carefully hidden from his friend's observation, and the missives, which Noll received through the skipper's kindness, were fairly bubbling over with the briskness and bright spirits of Ned's light heart.

"If they should stop coming, I don't know how I could manage," thought Noll; "I'm afraid Culm Rock would grow dreadfully lonesome and dreary." It was always, "And how do you get on with your plan?—and are the houses 'most finished?" or, "Have you got those Culm savages almost civilized, you dear old Noll?—and does Uncle Richard know anything about it yet? Won't he stare! and what do you suppose he'll say?" or, "Oh, now I think of it, how many scholars in Latin have you got down there? and how do they manage with their Greek? And are you putting on airs because you've got to be a pedagogue? And how much is the tuition a term?—because, you see, I've some idea of going away to boarding-school, and yours might suit me, if the charges aren't too high." And the whole generally concluded with, "P. S.—I don't mean a word of all that last I've written, my dear Noll, and you're not to think so. How does the money hold out? Don't fail to let me know if you're in a tight place, and I'll try to get a few dollars somehow. And hurry up and answer this letter by return steamer (what should we do if the old 'Gull' went to the bottom?), and so good-night," etc., etc.

Perhaps Noll expected a great deal too much of the Culm people when he looked to see them give up their filthy and slovenly habits at once, after getting fairly settled again in their whole and comfortable abodes. If he really expected to see this, he was disappointed. People do not follow a habit for the best part of a lifetime, to give it up suddenly and at once, even when gratitude and a sense of their short-coming are both urging them to do so. So he was obliged to content himself with some few faint evidences of thrift, and a desire to do better, on the part of those whom he had befriended, and wait patiently for the rest.

Dirk's household improved somewhat. Dirk was the most intelligent of the fishermen, and began to dimly perceive that it was much better and pleasanter to live cleanly and neatly than to pattern his household arrangements after the beasts of the field. He was, moreover, strongly actuated to reform his way of living by his deep, strong sense of gratitude to Noll, which led him to endeavor to accomplish whatever the boy suggested. It gave the stalwart fisherman something like a feeling of shame to see the lad—bright, fresh, and ruddy—enter his dirty and smoke-begrimed hovel and hardly be able to find himself a seat among the litter of old nets, broken chairs, household utensils, and all conceivable kinds of rubbish which strewed the floors and filled the corners.

"It be a shame," Dirk said to his wife, after Noll had gone, one day, "that the lad hev ter stan' up, an' ben't able ter find a seat, nohow. I tell ye it be a shame, woman!"

"Ye might mend the chairs a bit, man!" retorted Mrs. Sharp. "I'll warrant the lad be able ter find a seat then."

Dirk was sulky for a while after this, but saw that there could be nothing to sit upon so long as the chairs were for the most part legless, and at last got energy enough to mend them after a rude fashion. Then another place was found for the old nets besides the two corners by the fireplace, and when these had been removed, Mrs. Sharp took her broom and—well, it was not exactly sweeping, for the woman had not much idea of what a good housekeeper would call sweeping, but it was a feeble attempt at cleanliness, and she really thought she had made a great exertion, and was certainly proud of the achievement. Dirk chanced to be at home when Noll came again, and the flash of surprise and pleasure which swept over the boy's face as he entered and noted the change which had taken place since his last call pleased Dirk amazingly.

"Here be a seat fur ye, lad," he said, not without some pride in his tone, as he brought forward a rough three-legged block and placed it for his visitor. A faint stir of worthy ambition having slightly roused Dirk and his wife, they were hardly contented to allow matters to remain as they were. Mrs. Sharp once more took her broom, and used it with rather better effect. Dirk made an onslaught upon the rubbish which had been collecting in their kitchen and about the doorsteps for years, and which no one had had the energy to remove, and threw many a basketful into the sea.

The neighbors, meanwhile, were not entirely insensible to the fact that Dirk's house began to present—both within and without—a much more cleanly and respectable appearance than their own. They stopped at the door to look in and say, "La, ye be slickin' up finely, Dirk!" or, "Ye be gittin' fine ways, lately, man. An' what be all this fur?"

"Why," Dirk would answer, "I be 'shamed of livin' like a beast, man. An' the young master be wishin' us to hev cleaner housen an' slicker, an' I be willin' to do't ef he wish, now! He be a good lad to mend our housen so finely, and w'u'd ye think I ben't willin' to do his wish?"

Noll was greatly encouraged at these signs of improvement, and mentally rejoiced, hoping to see this new ambition spread till the whole twelve houses were reclaimed from their present filth and wretchedness.

The carpenter's work came to an end at last,—his labor all plain and visible to every eye in patched walls, roofs, mended doors and windows, and the general look of repair about the whole line of what were once but the poorest of shelters. Sampson's task had been a hard and bothersome one,—"Couldn't ha' got another man to teched it," the skipper said,—and Noll expected, as he walked around to Culm one afternoon with his roll of bills to pay the carpenter, that the bill would be a large one,—perhaps even more than Ned's generous bounty and his own amount of spending-money, saved since the lumber was purchased, could meet. He found Sampson packing up his tools,—he was to leave on the "Gull" the next morning,—with the bill all ready, added up and written out on a bit of smooth shingle. It proved to be five dollars less than the sum which Noll held in his hand.

"I swun!" said Sampson, roughly, as he counted over the bills which the boy placed in his hands, "I told the skipper, comin' down, that you was a born fool to be layin' out your money in this style. Now, I've been thinkin' on't over all the while I've been hammerin' and sawin', and I can't make out, to save my neck, how you're goin' to get any return from this 'ere investment. 'Tain't payin' property, I should judge," said the carpenter, looking up and down the beach.

"Of course I don't expect to get any money back from it," said Noll, laughing a little at the idea. "It was to help these fish-folk and to try and make them more comfortable that I did it."

Sampson put the roll of bills away in his capacious purse, remarking, "Well, you're a queer un. I did the job right well, though, if I do say it, and I ha'n't charged very steep for it, neither. Couldn't do it, somehow!—went too much against the grain. And—well, can't you shake hands over it? You're a tip-top paymaster, and if you want anything done, I'll come and do it, if I'm in China—there! Don't you lay out another cent on this settlement, though,—'tain't worth it."

Noll did not promise to take this advice, and started homeward, Sampson calling after him, "Good-by, good-by, lad! Hope you'll get some return from this 'ere investment!"

So the work was done, and a glad and happy letter went over the sea to Hastings, telling Ned Thorn that the labor was accomplished, and the houses all as whole and comfortable as when new, and that the people were actually beginning to show a little thrift and ambition; and saying, among other things, "I send you back five dollars that were left,—so you can begin to save your money again for that pony. And, oh! Ned, I don't think you can know how much good that money did! Perhaps you never will know (it must seem to you almost like throwing it away, because you are where you cannot see any result from it), and I felt, at first, as if you ought not to make the denial; but, somehow, I'm very glad, now, and I shall always feel sure that if you do make fun and pretend to laugh at a plan, you're all the time meaning to 'give it a lift,' as you say. And, oh! Ned, I believe I'm one of the happiest boys in the world! and I'm sure Uncle Richard has changed a great deal since last spring, when you were here, for he's got over being cross and gloomy, and actually asked me yesterday where I spent so much of my time. I'm going, if I can, to persuade him to take a walk with me, one of these afternoons, and so bring him around to the new houses. Wouldn't you like to be here to see us then? As for my school, it flourishes a little. There are still twelve scholars, and all but four have got through with their sand letters, and are at work at their 'a-b, ab,' and 'b-a, ba.' They'll get into spelling-books, sometime. Now, I'll end this long letter with telling you once more that you can't know how much good your money has done and will do, and say,

Good-night,
Noll Trafford."

Noll did not lose sight for a moment of his plan to persuade Uncle Richard to take a walk with him. It filled his thoughts all the pleasant days that followed after Mr. Sampson's departure, and several times he hinted very broadly to his uncle that it was "a splendid afternoon for a walk! the beach is hard as a floor, and the tide out." But Trafford was oblivious to all hints, and at last, on one warm, balmy, cloudless afternoon, Noll thought, "It is now, or never! I'll ask him at once." And straightway he started for the library, where he knew his uncle sat reading.