"But," said the captain, at length, "you haven't guessed yet what I have for you."

"Sure enough!" cried Hope, suddenly sitting upright. "Is it a sari for each, or a fez, or—"

"Or a pajama?" laughed Faith.

"No, you are miles away! It's something that is precious, that you can share equally, and that did not cost me a penny. There! I've given you pointers enough for the dullest guesser."

"And only made it harder!" said Hope.

"Let's see, it's precious, and to be shared, and cost nothing? I didn't suppose one could even pick up a pebble, in Algiers, without its costing."

"Well, this is not a pebble," returned the father.

"Oh, may we ask questions?" cried Faith. "Like the game of 'Twenty Questions,' you know?" and, at his nod, she continued excitedly, "Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

"Well, one might almost say all three," said their father slowly, "for its principal ingredient is certainly vegetable, yet with it is a strong impress of what may be made from a mineral, and neither would be of the least use, but for the animal, which combines the two, to make them what they are."

"Dear! dear! It grows harder and harder," groaned Hope. "Is its principal element fire, air, earth, or water?"

"Well, you've rather caught me there," laughed the father. "Let me see—there may be fire of a certain kind in it, though it's not yet visible; of course it is permeated with air, like everything else, and, judging from its appearance, I should think there was considerable earth about it—" laughing amusedly—"but water? Well, no—it has crossed water, no doubt, but—"

"Papa, it's a book!" Hope burst out with conviction. "The paper is vegetable, the ink mineral, and the fire is—is—well, genius, you know, and—wait! I'll ask another question; can it be opened and shut?"

"It can be open—yes. But shut? I hardly see how—"

"Why, surely, papa, you can shut a book," put in Faith.

"But it isn't a book," returned the captain blandly, at which both stared in dumb amazement.

"Not a book? Oh dear!" they sighed in concert.

Their father laughed outright.

"Why don't you ask some more questions?" he cried teasingly.

"Oh, because it seems as if every one mixed us up worse. I was so sure it was a book," groaned Hope, quite crestfallen.

"Well then, is it useful or ornamental?"

"Now, that's a poser!" He ruminated a minute, then said, "It's useful, certainly, but not just what you'd call ornamental. One wouldn't save it for an ornament—not this one, anyway, but simply for its contents—"

"I have it, I have it!" Faith actually jumped up and down.

"It's a letter! It's a letter from Debby! Now, isn't it? Your 'contents' gave it away. Say I'm right, father—come, now!"

"Well, you are. You've guessed it, that's certain."

"Humph!" sneered Hope, distinctly miffed, "who couldn't, after you'd fairly told it? I knew all the time it was a book, or a letter, or something."

"You should have said so sooner, Miss Hindsight," laughed her father. "But I confess you came pretty close to it, my dear. And here it is. From Debby, surely, because from Portsmouth, but this elegant modern writing is never hers in the world. She has evidently engaged some friend to write that address, and it's a neat one."

"Father, you said there was earth about it; how can that be?" broke in
Hope, scarcely mollified, as yet.

He held it up, and pointed to its worn condition, and two or three black thumb-marks.

"Isn't there earth for you?" he laughed. "What is earth but soil?"

"Oh—h!" cried Hope, "is that fair—to play upon words so?"

"Let's call it square anyhow, sweetheart, and you read it aloud to sister and me, won't you?"

Hope could do no less than comply, and the bulky missive was received by the listeners with as much respectful enjoyment as if it had been a neat-appearing, well-worded epistle, instead of the rambling, disjointed, much-soiled, and oddly-expressed letter that it was. The good woman began and ended every paragraph with lamentations and longings over her darlings, and the lines between told of her 'good' and 'bad' lodgers, as she distinctly divided them, her few pleasure jaunts, and some of the gossip of the neighborhood, only a few words of which concern this little history.

"You'll recklict," she wrote, "the leddy what come jest a dey or too before yoo saled? Well, shees heer yit and I like 'er best ov al. She ain't to say real lively, yoo no, but shese good compny, and ken talk good on most enny sub-jick, and she ain't abuv spending a 'our with old Debby now'n then either. She is thee wun what is riting yure names on this verry letter—ain't it good ov 'er?"

"Who is this lodger?" asked the captain. "I don't remember seeing her."

The girls looked at each other inquiringly.

"Don't you remember, Hope?"

"I didn't suppose you'd forget, Faith!" were their simultaneous remarks, as each began to laugh.

"No," said Hope then, "I can't remember at all; but I know she was looking at our rooms just the day before we sailed, and we thought her very ladylike and pleasant. Don't you know how interested she seemed in our voyage, and how we thought her an American, then recalled afterwards that we had not found out whether she was or not?"

"Yes, it does come back to me," said Faith, and the talk drifted into other home matters, not essential here.

The next day was more sultry than any they had yet experienced, and the decks were filled with loungers. Hope and Bess, however, were deeply occupied over some new stitch in embroidery, that one was teaching the other, and Faith, who had been romping with the little ones till warm and weary, thought, while resting in a deep steamer-chair by herself, that she would give dear old Debby's letter a second reading. As she drew it from her pocket for that purpose, and removed the envelope, a little puff of wind caught the latter from her lap, and sent it lightly skimming down the deck. Faith, quite unheeding, read on, smiling over her nurse's peculiar spelling, and the envelope sped along its way unchecked, an unconscious instrument of fate. As if heaven-directed, it presently swerved a trifle from its first course, fluttered to and fro an instant, then neared a woman, who sat listlessly by herself, her arms resting upon those of her chair and her eyes, dark and sad, fastened upon the far horizon. There was a tense quiet in her attitude that seemed to cover something most unlike quietude within.

A slight noise at her side broke the spell of her gloomy musing and, glancing down, she saw the bit of stiff paper lying motionless beside her, and thinking it something she might herself have dropped, reached idly down and picked it up.

But at the first glance she was as one electrified. Sitting upright, pallid and eager, she gazed at the superscription, her face growing radiant with hope and joy. At length she rose and, turning about, looked forward along the deck, gay with its groups in light clothing, its covering awnings, and its little children with their picturesque Indian ayahs.

A short way off sat Faith, smiling over her letter, and to her went
Lady Moreham, a soft expression upon her face that made it lovely.

"My dear," she said, as the girl looked up brightly, "is this yours?"

Faith glanced at the envelope, which the speaker did not offer to relinquish.

"Why, yes. Did I drop it? Oh, it blew away. Thank you for returning it."

As she spoke she rose, with instinctive courtesy, and offered her chair, bringing another from a little distance for herself. Lady Moreham accepted it with an absent manner, and, sinking into it, said quickly, with agitation in her tones,

"I must ask you a question or two, but not out of curiosity, believe me. Was this address written by some one you know—a friend?"

Faith smiled.

"Yes and no, my lady. We have met the one who wrote it—Hope and I—but neither of us can recall her name;" and thereupon she told something of her old nurse, and the coming of the new lodger, just before their departure on this journey.

Lady Moreham listened with breathless interest, her eyes intent upon the envelope, which she still held. As Faith touched lightly upon the appearance of the stranger, she said briefly.

"Tell me more, please. Describe everything about her. Was she tall, or short? What colored hair and eyes? What sort of voice?"

"A flutey voice, like some birds I've listened to," returned the girl ruminantly, "but with something a bit odd and different in her speech that made us think her an American, and Hope even spoke of it; but just then the carriage came to take us to the wharf, and she forgot to answer."

"Yes, yes," cried the other eagerly, "and she was tall and slender?"

"Very, and a fine figure, we thought. She had light brown hair, and her eyes—"

"Yes, her eyes—" Lady Moreham was bending forward with bated breath, and Faith watched her wonderingly as she continued, "When she looked at you, listening to what you had to say, was there any peculiarity?"

"Only that they were not of the same size nor color," laughed the girl, "and she had a way of dropping her head a little, and looking up sidewise like a bird."

"True, true!" breathed the lady, "and as you say one eye was brown and one blue."

Faith nodded acquiescence, but smiled to herself, knowing she had said nothing of the kind.

"But you cannot remember her name?"

"No, neither of us. We only saw her for a few minutes, once or twice, you see."

A little cloud fell over the lady's face, and after a perplexed gaze, in which her eyes, fixed upon Faith, seemed to look through and beyond her, she rose abruptly, said in her usual reserved manner, "Thank you for your information," and walked away.

Faith, looking after her wonderingly, saw young Allyne standing near, his eyes turned wistfully upon herself. She flushed a little, and so did he; then, with an impulsive movement, he made a step forward.

"Miss Hosmer," he began quickly, "I've wanted to say a word to your sister for some time, but no opportunity has offered. Perhaps it will be just as well to say it to you?"

Faith bowed, not comprehending, and he went on rapidly, as if to hurry over a disagreeable duty,

"I feel that I was inexcusable, the other evening, in my reference to your sister, and I can't understand myself at all. I suppose she doesn't care what I think of her—good, bad, or indifferent—but I want you, at least, to know that I do think her one of the sweetest, most modest, girls I ever saw—too reserved and quiet, indeed, if she has a flaw!"

Faith's drooped eyes were dancing. She knew the young man believed himself to be speaking to Hope, about herself, and that, to be quite fair, she ought to undeceive him at once. But a spirit of mischief had taken possession of her and she felt he deserved some punishment. Besides, it is so rare a chance when one can talk oneself over with a person who has not learned one's identity! So she answered brusquely, in Hope's own manner,

"I couldn't understand it, either, and it will be hard to make my sister listen. She is a bit inflexible, at times. If you knew her better you could never have hurt her so. She is not a flirt, by any means!"

"I know it!" groaned Allyne, thoroughly shamed and penitent. "I knew it then, but—I may as well own up—it was the champagne."

"More shame to you!" declared Faith with unusual decision. "That is no excuse at all, for if it makes you do and say things to regret later. Why don't you simply let it alone?"

He looked at her with a derisive laugh.

"Why don't I?" he began, then catching her earnest expression, checked himself. "That's good logic, I suppose," he added.

"More—it's good sense," she argued. "I love oranges, for instance, but they make me ill. Do you suppose I go on eating them? That would be too foolish! Yet men are supposed to have more strength and self-control than women."

The attachÉ drew up a chair and dropped into it, not loth to linger, even to be lectured.

"I don't think men have more of such strength though," he said. "Their superiority is physical, not mental."

"They ought to be ashamed to own it!" cried Faith. "The two should go together."

"Well, we are ashamed—I am ashamed!" smiling upon her. "Yet we are willing to give you girls all the credit you like for your decision of character, only caring to retain just a little vanity on account of our own endurance in other ways. And you'll have to own there isn't one of you who likes a Molly Coddle!"

"Is it being a Molly Coddle to be strong and true to yourself?"

"Oh, well, you put it nicely, but just look at the fellows who will sit by and never join in the wine and the fun—aren't they a rather feeble-looking set?"

"Is my father feeble?" asked Faith, turning such a sweetly arch and tender face upon him that the young man felt his heart thump.

"Well no—hardly!" he laughed.

"Yet he knows enough to leave all liquor alone, and believes himself the stronger for it. And don't you, yourself, feel a bit safer on board this steamer, to know he can perfectly control himself?"

Allyne tapped his chair arm and ruminated.

"He certainly is no Molly Coddle!" he observed, finally, with a vivid remembrance of the captain's stern visage and curt manner upon a certain uncomfortable occasion. "I think I never looked at the matter quite in this light before, Miss Hosmer. Nearly every one I meet takes wine, and I've been disgusted with myself that I couldn't keep my head so long as others did when drinking. It never occurred to me to keep my head by not drinking at all! That's worth considering. Thank you for a kind word and good thought!"

"You are welcome!" smiled the girl rising. "And I'll leave you to digest it while I go and read to Mrs. Blakely."

"Mrs. Blakely! That old lady with the green goggles?"

"Yes."

"What, in goodness' name do you find to admire in her? I thought she was a cranky old invalid."

"Well, she is not very young, nor handsome, nor pleasant, and she has trouble with her eyes—but that's just why I do read to her. Now, nice strong people with good eyes, and manners—like yourself, for instance, don't need such attention. You can amuse yourselves;" and with a laughing glance, and little mocking courtesy, she slipped away.

He looked after her with admiring eyes.

"She hit me there!" he owned inwardly. "But even her scorn is pleasant. Gad! I can congratulate myself that she isn't the one I insulted. She would never have forgiven me—that's certain! As it is, this little girl may intercede with her sister and make it easier there. I'm glad I had the sand to speak out, anyhow!"

He had been seated some time, lost in thoughts that could not harm him, when Hope came tripping by, intent on finding Dwight, with whom she had some scheme on hand, her eyes dancing with fun and expectation. Allyne, looking up, thought his vis-a-vis of a short time since was back again, the arch, laughing expression with which she had left him not yet cold on her face. "I have thought it all out," he said quickly, "and you are right. I mean to try it, at least."

Hope stopped, with a cold stare of astonishment.

"Try it?" she repeated blankly.

"Yes," his face falling like the barometer before a storm. "Surely, you have not forgotten! I'll try going without entirely, if you tell me to. It is best, and you are right. But, if I do, may I not count upon your friendship to help me? And you surely will make it right with your sister, also? Though I may value yours the most, I can never feel right until that is straightened out."

Hope saw there was something she did not comprehend, but from former experiences concluded she could pretty accurately conjecture what had gone before. In some way this bold offender had seen and talked to Faith, won her soft heart to pardon, and was now suing for her own forgiveness, with the belief that she and Faith had talked it over, and only thus could her full friendship be secured. She would lead him on to fuller confession before committing herself. It would serve him rightly for his insolence! Because her sister was soft-hearted was no reason she should be, and when he offended one he must learn that he offended both.

"I don't know that I can make it right with her," she said guardedly.
"Why should I try?"

"Oh, but you seemed so forgiving a moment since," he urged. "You haven't repented of it so soon, I'm sure."

"I did, did I?" thought Hope, still more puzzled but bound not to show it—then aloud, "But girls sometimes change their minds."

"In a half hour? Then, where is that decision you boast of? No, if you are weak enough to do that, there is no use in my trying."

"Trying what?" wondered Hope, and said vaguely, "The two cases are scarcely similar."

"Perhaps not, but how could you consistently call me weak to yield to wine, if you are to be helpful and kind one minute, and scornful the next? You said you would help me to win over Miss Faith, and I thought you also tacitly promised me help in another way. Are you going back on everything, now?"

"No, indeed!" cried Hope, fully comprehending at last. ("So he talked Faith over, thinking it was I—and she let him think so—sly puss! I didn't believe it was in her!") Then aloud, "I will do what I can, of course, but Faith, though seeming so gentle, has a strain of obstinacy—"

"Yes, you hinted at that before."

("Indeed!" laughed the girl inside, "how well she did it!")

"But she is so fond of you, and I long to be friends with both."

"Yes?" interpolated Hope, with an indifferent accent.

"Yes," strongly; "but if I can't have her friendship, I still plead for yours. You can help me—you have helped me already."

"But if she won't listen to me?" queried the girl, keeping her amused eyes lowered.

"Then give it up, and I will bear her displeasure; but don't double it by adding your own."

"Then, possibly, I had better not say anything—"

"And keep the matter to ourselves?" eagerly.

"Why, y-yes, for the present, at least."

"All right! I'm willing. Only you'll ignore me when she's by, I'm afraid."

Hope turned suddenly away, almost unable to control her laughter.

"I ought to ignore you always," she said, "but—"

"But you won't, I'm sure! And, in time, even she will see how I have improved, and relent towards me."

"Do you think so?" asked Hope in a smothered tone.

"Indeed I do! She is too sweet and fine a girl to hold resentment, I'm sure. I'll win her over yet!"

"Well, you might try," said the naughty girl in a tone of doubtful assent, "but my sister is not one to be trifled with, and you were wise to come to me. If you ever do speak to her, I wouldn't advise you to repeat this conversation—" and, chuckling amusedly, Hope sped on her way, leaving Allyne in great contentment of mind. He looked after her with a smile.

"It was lucky I tackled the right one!" he muttered. "The other is lovely; I suppose, but I like a little more force and fire. In spite of their resemblance it's easy enough to tell them apart when one is really interested. Well, I must keep my promise, now, and behave myself—that is clear!"