Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1876-09-15

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He and his little sister spent half their
time down on the sandy beach, watching
the great world of waves, with nothing be-
yond save the sky, which lovingly touche
IL in the dim distance, and the white sails
of the passing ships. Every morning, for
many and many a long day, his mother
came down to the beach with him and lit
tie May, and sat watching the tide coming
in or going out.
"Mother," he often asked, "where Is faith
err" But she always gave the same an
swer:
"He is on the sea, my child, attending 10
all the people that may be i'll on large ship
in which he is and he tries TO make them
WELL"
"And what are you saying to the sea,
mother2" he asked one day. She turned
and answered him as If he had been man
rather than a wee child:
IL do not quite know, my darling. am
sending prayer out with the tide, think,
| TO your father to come back again. L al
ways fancy that some of those great waves
may travel far away till they touch his ship,
and when the tide comes back that perhaps
| luty DElDS Lt All diSW tIS VI soho WhiSpSi-
ed message, from him."
! And so the months went by; aud then,
suddenly, some terrible news came that
made his mother wiring her hands, and rock
TO and fro in an agony of sorrow.
"Don't cry, mother" he said, climbing
into her lap; "come down to the shore and
watch for father" But she only sobbed the
more, and cried,-
"Oh my child, my poor child, VIC shall
never watch for him more. He is sdrowned,
and gone forever"
ibid you see him2' he asked childish
ly, "w ere you on the shore2"
mo, darling, he was far away-much
farther than we can see-and he was wreck
ed, and is drowned, and lying in the great
sea forever" she wept.
Then he knew that there was great sea-
world beyond his sight, aud that some
where in it his father was lying dead, and
so the childs face grew grave, and his eyes
always seemed to be looking much farther
away than even tlie great hills themselves
could see.
The sherlock, and the people scattered
in the houses on the hills around, were
very good TO Alice in her sorrow, but they
could not provide for her and her children;
aud when letter came from her mother,
kind enough now, begging her 10 come
back TO the West Indian island, they tried
to persuade her 10 go. But she refused; she
could not accept what had been denied to
her Ii usband, and though money was en-
closed, it was long before she could bring
herself TO spend shilling of it. She pre-
ferred even the charity Of the fisher folk.
So letter after letter came, but at last there
was one she could not resist.
Remember, 1t is your own mother you
are steelng your heart against" Mrs.
Brandleth wrote, "and feel for your sor-
row as If it were my own, for your father
died before you can even remember. am
getting old TO travel alone, hut must go 10
you if you will not come to me-"
Then she broke up the little home-tho
home in which, in spite of poverty, she had
been very happy in the days gone by, and
in which her children had been born-aud
went TO her mother. But she could not stay
there, and so, alter few years, Mrs.
Brandleth put the sugar plantations under
the care of an agent, and once more Alice
Trevor came to England, TO live in a small
country town.
Ten years from the time when Alice left
Drayton on Sea, and the sun shOne no
longer down on the little fishing village,
but on growing place Of fashionable re-
sort. The houses which dotted the hills
were closer together, at their feet there
stretched terraces and streets, and ON the
once lonely shore were the marks OF many
footsteps on the sand, and rows of boats for
hire, and sailors hanging about seeking for
idlers who would sail beneath the summer
sun, or listen TO their yarns.
"a glorious day, ma'am," Tom Hardy
said 10 an old lady who, feeble and tired,
sat down on one of the few seats scattered
about. All! glorious day, ma'am. Would
the young lady like a sailH Pvea nice lit
tie craft yonder."
"No, thank you," she answered, quietly.
"May, dear, give me my knitting;" aud
the old woman and the young girl sat down,
shaded from the fierce rays of the setting
| sun by the life-boat which was drawn up
on the sand behind them.
as the paint wet ?" the old lady asked.
mo, ma'am, 'taint wet" the sailor said [;
"lt's the one behind I've been touching up.
We are mighty proud of our life-boat,
ma'am. 1t isn't long we've had her, you
see. They say 1t was Mr.. Greathead, who
| invented her, bu: it's a great heart that
gives it I think. A lady gave that TO Dray-
ton-on-Sea, just year ago this August.
It's saved good number o: lives already,
too" There was no reply from the old la
| dy, but the bright face Of May Trevor look
| ed up at him (for II was she and her grand
mother, Mrs. Brandleth. They had come
to see and stay a month at the place in
which Alice's married life had been spent,
and had left her now at the lodgings, too
ways a dreary book, with a terrible past
history, to her.) "Yes, miss" he went on,
encouraged by the look, ~ owe my life 10
liie-boat-not this one, but to a life boat
many year ago-that is, nine this last
spring. We were took up by one, me and
two others, just as we had given up all hope
and were clinging to almost the last bit oi
spar left. She was the boat of an American
that took us up, and belonged to ship that
was bound outwsrds. There were only us
three saved from the wreck, and one of us
dled.r
"And did the other liver" May asked.
Eyes, miss, but he kept it secret He
was poor, you see, and his wife's mother
had behaved badly, and let him and his
wife and children almost starve, though
she had plenty. So when he'd made
| enough TO cOme hack without a pennv In