The ocean billows still beat unceasingly against Rockhaven's granite cliffs and toss the rockweed and kelpie aloft. The tide still ebbs and flows beneath the old mill, and the fishermen still mend their nets and sail away. Parson Bush is getting old and feeble, and his hair white as snow. He still utters fervent thanks, however, for the many blessings that have come to this far-off island, including the new church Jess and Winn were instrumental in building. The same old bell still hangs in its tower, and Sunday evenings always answers the one in Northaven. Its sound is sweet to Winn, for it always recalls his boyhood days and marks a turning-point in his life-history. He is president of the new Rockhaven Granite Company now, and prosperous. A beautiful residence of granite stands back of the old tower on Norse Hill, and there Winn and Mona abide in summer, though the city claims them winters. Mona often entertains her friends with her violin, but no money would tempt her again to play in public. Jess still fiddles when he is "lunsum," which is not often, for a little girl with eyes like Mona's thinks "Gampa" the most wonderful man who ever lived. A boy, two years older, would cut that fiddle open to find what made the noise, if he got the chance. They both pursue him from morn till eve and, in spite of their mother's protest, give him no rest.

Rockhaven.

"Let 'em have all the fun they kin," he says, when Mona tries to call them off; "they won't be young but once, an' when they git old they'll hev' trouble 'nuff to make up."

Winn and Mona often visit the gorge on pleasant Sunday afternoons, for the exquisite chords of romance still vibrate in their hearts. Occasionally she takes her violin along, and once more the old sweet love songs whisper out of the cave.

And hidden away in one corner of it, never disturbed, are a few sea-shells and dried starfish.

THE END