Story 9—Chapter 3.

A large merry Christmas party was assembled under Sir Baldwin Treherne’s hospitable roof. All sorts of games had been carried on till a late hour, and everybody was in high spirits.

“Oh, if dear Harry was here it would be perfect,” exclaimed one of his sisters, the gentle Mary, who had been his chief playmate in his childhood.

“Oh, Harry is all right, enjoying the warm weather in the West Indies, instead of being frozen as we are here.”

“Lucky dog!” said one of his brothers.

They all went to bed at last. More than one prayer in the house was offered up that night for young Harry’s safety.

Christmas morning came. The sky was overcast, the snow was falling thickly. Sir Baldwin had promised to visit during the day a poor family; the mother lay dying.

“I cannot begin this blessed day better than by a work of love,” he said to himself, as he looked out on the snow-covered landscape. “If I put it off till the afternoon she may no longer be here.”

He never allowed the weather to prevent him from going out. With a thick greatcoat on, a stout stick in one hand, he set forth through the snow on his errand of mercy, long before the rest of the family had left their rooms. He was just going into the cottage when he met Paul Petherwick, with his pilot-coat, sea-boots, and a spy-glass under his arm, accompanied by several of his crew, carrying oars and coils of rope and other ship’s gear.

“What, Paul, are you going to sea such a morning as this—Christmas morning, too?” asked the baronet, in a tone of surprise.

“Yes, Sir Baldwin, that I am; for you see, sir, I was one Christmas day, as you will remember, tossing about on yon stormy sea till my craft was driven on shore, and I and my crew well-nigh lost. I should have been thankful if any brother pilot had been out on that morning to have towed the Sea-Gull into port. For what I know, there are some poor fellows out of their reckoning; and if I can fall in with them, and pilot them up Channel, I shall be doing as I should like to be done by.”

“You are right, my friend. Heaven protect and prosper you,” said the baronet. “You’ll come up in the evening to hear the carol-singers. There’ll be a cup of mead ready for you, and for your people, too, if they will come.”

“Thank ye, Sir Baldwin; we’ll come,” said several voices, and the pilot’s crew hurried down to their boat.

The pilot vessel made several tacks along shore before stretching out to sea. She had made her last tack, and was standing off the land when, near the very reef on which the Sea-Gull was lost, Paul thought he saw the mast of a vessel. He called for his spy-glass. The boy brought it to him. Just then the snow cleared off somewhat.

“There are some poor fellows clinging to it, too,” he exclaimed. “Ease off the jib-sheet! Down with the helm! we must beat up to them.”

“Poor fellows! poor fellows! I hope that they will hold on till we reach them,” he exclaimed several times, as he himself went to the helm, that he might make the vessel do her best, for tide and wind were against her. Just then a large ship hove in sight, with a signal for a pilot. “She can wait; these poor fellows cannot,” he said, as he looked towards her. “She would have paid us heavy pilotage, too.”

As the Lady Isabel drew near the wreck, one of the people on the mast was seen waving a hat feebly. The others appeared to be lashed to it, but unable to move. The cutter was hove-to and the boat lowered. There was a broken sea running, and it was a work of difficulty and danger. Six men were clinging to the mast, most of them more dead than alive from the wet and cold.

“Take our young officer off first, pilot,” said one of the men; “he’s furthest gone.”

Two of the most active of the pilot’s crew climbed the mast, and brought down the almost lifeless form of a young midshipman. Only two other men could be carried in the small pilot-boat at a time.

“Why, if it isn’t Master Harry Treherne!” exclaimed old Paul Petherwick, as he received the lad in his arms, and deposited him in the bottom of the boat. “Pull, my sons, pull! the sooner we get him between the warm blankets the better.”

Harry Treherne, for it was indeed he, was quickly conveyed on board the Lady Isabel, and placed in the old pilot’s bed, where, with the aid of a glass of grog (the sailor’s specific in all maladies—in this instance the best that could be applied), he soon regained his consciousness. His first inquiries were for the rest of his crew. Five had been saved, but the rest, with old Hulks, had been lost. The cutter was now rapidly nearing the small harbour close to the manor house.

Sir Baldwin saw her coming, and having observed her manoeuvres near the wreck, was sure that she was bringing some shipwrecked seamen on shore.

“We have got some one here who will be glad to see you, Sir Baldwin,” said Paul, as he and his men lifted a sailor wrapped up in blankets out of the boat.

“Father, dear father, I am all right! don’t be alarmed. Only rather weak from having been out in the cold all night,” cried a voice which Sir Baldwin recognised as that of his son Harry.

“Paul, you have repaid me, and more than repaid me,” exclaimed the baronet, after the first greetings with Harry were over. “I knew that you would. Do what is right and kind on all occasions, and good will come out of it somehow or other, though we do not always exactly see how it is to be. That is what I have always said, and what has happened is a strong proof that what I have said is true.”

The shipwrecked seamen were received into the manor house, and carefully tended. Harry was almost himself again by the evening, and all agreed that that Christmas Day, if not as merry, was as happy as any that the family had spent. They had many great blessings to be thankful for, and among them, not the least to the parents’ hearts, was that their sailor-boy, after all the perils he had gone through, had once more been restored to them in safety.

The End.