ITH so many willing hearts and hands at their service, it had been an easy matter to convert the chapel into a hospital; but now that it was converted, where was the money to come from to run it? The surgeon had said he thought it would be fully two weeks before the captain, and the two men who had been most badly hurt, would be about again, and in the meantime there were medicines to be bought and food to be provided for the entire party. Sister Julia knew well enough that there was no money to spare for the purpose in Moorlow, and they could hope for no remuneration from the poor sailors. With the wreck of his vessel and his cargo the captain himself had lost everything, and he had told Sister Julia “he had not even a penny left to go toward paying off his crew.”

So it happened one afternoon, a day or two after the wreck, that Sister Julia, wrapping a shawl about her, left her patients in charge of her assistants, and went out on the beach to get a breath of fresh air, and try and think her way out of this money difficulty.

She had not gone far before she heard voices behind her, and turned to see Mr. Vale, with Regie and Harry and Nan, hurrying after her. They had hold of hands, and, stretched in one long line, looked like quite a formidable little party, as they came toward her.

“We have come to take you prisoner for neglect of duty,” said Mr. Vale, as the line formed into a circle and shut her in.

“Not exactly neglect of duty,” laughed Sister Julia; “my thoughts are all with the hospital. I have been racking my poor brain to know where the money is to come from to support our patients up yonder.”

“Yes, I knew that must be troubling you,” Mr. Vale answered; “and I came down purposely to talk matters over with you. This log looks long enough to hold five people comfortably. Suppose we sit down here a few moments.”

So they ranged themselves on the piece of timber, which had been stranded from the wreck of the Starling, and which two days of sunshine had thoroughly dried.

“Now,” said Mr. Vale, “let us proceed to business. Suppose we have these men on our hands for two weeks, how much do you think it is going to cost us?”

“That is what I have been trying to get at,” replied Sister Julia; “all the bedding and things must be paid for, and there is the coal, which we are burning at a lively rate the whole twenty-four hours. These women who help me can't afford to work without wages, though they would be willing enough to, and Bromley the sexton must have something, for he's up a dozen times a night tending to the fires in the two stoves. It seems to me ten dollars a day might be made to cover our running expenses, but I do not see how we can manage to do with less.”

“That will be seventy dollars a week,” said Harry, having worked out the difficult sum on the firm wet sand at his feet; “whew! but that's a lot, and for two weeks it would be twice that.”

“Yes, a hundred and forty dollars,” said Sister Julia; “it is a pretty large sum.”

“And your own services ought not to go unremunerated,” Mr. Vale suggested.

“Indeed they ought! I only wish my pocket were long enough to pay all the bills myself.”

“I've wished mine was, a hundred times over, since the wreck.”

“There's one thing I want to ask you, Mr. Vale,” said Sister Julia, “and that is, if, after all, you think even my time is my own to give. You see while Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax are abroad I am employed by them to care for Reginald. To be sure he is so nearly well now that he does not need me, and Mrs. Murray is like a mother to him, but his lessons will have to be interrupted, and I wondered if Mr. Fairfax would feel I was doing quite right to neglect them.”

“And who would care for the poor men then?” cried Nan, with real distress. “Nobody knows just how to do for 'em but you, Sister Julia.”

“You need have no fears on the score of Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax,” said Mr. Vale, decidedly; “I know them well enough to assure you that they will thoroughly approve of and admire your course, and Nan is quite right. You know that no one here could care for them properly but just yourself.”

“But how about the money?” urged Regie, who was anxious to know what they were going to do about it.

“Well, I have thought of two or three schemes,” Mr. Vale replied. “You know we could write to Washington, and doubtless get an appropriation from some fund or other, but I would take a sort of pride in not bothering the Government at all about it; at any rate, not until we find it impossible to raise the sum ourselves.”

“Say! Mr. Vale,” said Rex, familiarly, “I'll tell you the very thing—take up a collection in your church next Sunday.”

“Well, I hadn't thought of that, Rex,” laughed Mr. Vale; “but, do you know, some of the good people there grumble already, thinking we have too many collections as it is. No, it seems to me it would be best to raise the money here if we could.”

“But you can't,” said Harry, emphatically, “there isn't any money here. I guess father has more than anyone in Moorlow, and yet I know he couldn't give much.”

“Your father, Harry, has given his share, in the work he has done,” Mr. Vale answered. “What I have to propose is this: suppose you and Reginald and Nan start out, say two days before Thanksgiving—that will be a week from next Tuesday—and take the village cart and Pet, and drive over to the Rumson Road. You know there are some well-to-do people living over there, who do not go back to town much before Christmas. Now they have every one heard by this time of the wreck of the Christina, and of the injuries her crew sustained, and I believe that every one of them would be glad to contribute, if you three little folks were to call upon them and tell them you were trying to raise two hundred dollars, which, you see, would cover all expenses. You know, at Thanksgiving time, people who have a great deal to be thankful for themselves often feel like helping other people who have not fared so well. It seems to me the plan is worth trying.”

The children's faces plainly showed their delight in it.

“But how will we know where to go?” asked Nan.

“I will give you a list of half-a-dozen names,” Mr. Vale replied. “I happen to have a little blank book in my pocket that is just what you need;” and, opening it, he wrote upon the first page, “Collection in Aid of the Crew of the Christina, wrecked off the Moorlow coast, November 12th, 18——.”

Then underneath he wrote the words, “A Friend, $20.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Regie.

“I mean that I will give you twenty dollars to start the fund. Then, after you have been to all the other places, you must not forget to call upon my sister up at Mr. Avery's. She will be glad to give you something, I know, and Mr. Avery will, too, for that matter.”

“I wish we could do it to-morrow,” said Nan, whose enthusiasm always found it hard to brook delays of any sort.

“Oh, no, indeed!” Mr. Vale exclaimed, “you will get twice the money by waiting. Thanksgiving and Christmas have a magical way of letting down the bars to people's hearts, and making them more generous.”

Of course Sister Julia entered into this fine plan as heartily as the children, and after they had talked a long while about it she bade them good-bye, and went back to her duties in the hospital a much cheerier woman than she had left it. The week that followed proved a long but happy one to the children. Long, because they were continually counting the days and the hours till the time should come when they could set out on that wonderful collecting tour; happy, in the unexpected holidays, which came to them through Sister Julia's inability to keep up their lessons. Surely every little scholar knows the peculiar charm of unlooked-for holidays.

By the common consent of the body-guard, the collecting-book had been placed in the keeping of his little Royal Highness, who had placed it for safety in the top drawer of his bureau. On the evening before they were to start on this momentous expedition, Regie had taken it out, handled it for several moments thoughtfully, and then put it back in its place, with an abstracted air, as though he was thinking very hard about something. Late that night, when the house was quiet, and every one asleep, he had crept noiselessly from bed, leaned out of the window to strike a match, for fear of waking Sister Julia in the next room, and lit his candle. Then, trying to keep a look out on all sides at once, as guiltily as any little thief, he went to the drawer, took out the little book, crossed to the table where the candle was standing, put a new pen in the holder, and then, with all the customary twists and twirls of his funny little mouth, wrote on a line, directly underneath Mr. Vale's,

“A Friend.....................................$20.”

Then he sat, gazing proudly at it for fully five minutes before he put out the light and crept back to bed.