"Tip-top, and nobody in it save herself and the servants. The skipper has plenty of money, and goes to sea from choice, not necessity.—Why, I declare, Win, here he is again, coming along the street. He gave me a half-holiday, but I did not think he was going to take one himself as well. If this kind of thing continues much longer, you may congratulate yourself on having another brother soon;" and Dick winked knowingly.
"What do you mean?" asked Winnie, staring open-eyed; but the mischievous boy had vanished and left her alone in her bewilderment.
All good things come to an end, and every day has its close. The Maid of Astolat was ready to set sail again, and once more the time drew near to say good-bye.
"Farewell, Win, my little angel sister," whispered Dick, kissing the sweet face with dimmed, misty eyes. "God keep you for ever and ever, and bring me safe home to you again." Then followed a long, lingering embrace; and Winnie was left to wait and hope till the long months and days would pass and her sailor boy return once more.
"Yes, I miss him sorely, Aunt Judith," she said one evening to Miss Latimer about a fortnight after the ship had sailed; "but I have so much to be thankful for, that I feel as it I dared not grumble. You have no idea how greatly he is improved, and how much more highly he is thought of now by every one in the house. I wish you had been able to see him, Aunt Judith."
"So do I, Winnie; but I was too ill the day he called, and this is only my second walk out of doors."
"Were you very unwell?" questioned Winnie, again scrutinizing her friend's face anxiously. "Aunt Judith, I don't believe you are nearly better. There are great hollows round your eyes, and your face looks haggard and worn."
"Nonsense, dear," answered the kind voice, and Miss Latimer's smile was very bright. "Remember I am an old woman, and pain leaves traces on an aged face.—What about yourself, Winnie? is the darkness brightening yet?"
"I think so, Aunt Judith; and Dick helped me so much. Perhaps the beautiful life is within my reach after all."
"There's no 'perhaps' in the matter, dear," said Miss Latimer softly; "but my little Winnie must be patient, for the grand, sweet song of life has its beginning, and the opening chords may be tremulous and low. Child," she continued passionately, "the grandest songs—the songs that echo and re-echo through eternity's limitless bounds—are wrung from hearts crushed and bleeding with anguish, and the infinite peace and calm come only after long strife and pain. Darling, my earnest prayer for you is that God would perfect in you his own image, and that you may come forth from the furnace of affliction with Christ's own brightness shining in your face."