"By the way, I have a surprise packet for you. Barton, our manager, has resigned, and Mr. Leverton has been appointed in his place. That leaves the under-manager's berth vacant, and—"
"You haven't got it, Dick?"
"How can a fellow tell his yarn if he's interrupted in this fashion? But, just to relieve your suspense, I beg to state that the new under-manager for Sir Thomas Arkell is Mr. Richard Boden, whom his friends call Dick, and sometimes Dicky."
How they laugh, and cheer, and congratulate him—almost like a parcel of school-boys! It certainly is a memorable Christmas Eve.
"That partnership is decidedly drawing nearer!" laughs Jim. "I shall soon begin to look for the altered sign."
He himself has not done badly. He has passed through college with flying colours, has earned the right to place "B.A. (Lond.)" after his name, and now, on returning to Beauleigh, has been appointed one of the masters at the Deanery School.
They are very proud of him at home, for he has more than fulfilled their expectations, and has brought some amount of credit to the good old town.
"Sometimes," he exclaims thoughtfully, "it all seems like a dream, and I pinch myself to make sure that I am awake. I little imagined, dad, when we heard of the loss of the Morning Star, that things would turn out like this. We have been very fortunate in finding good friends, and the best one of all, as far as I am concerned, sits here," he says, pointing to Dick.
* * * * *
Draw the curtains now, light the gas, heap more logs on the roaring fire, and let us, before saying our final word of farewell, take one more glance at the merry party. For the elders, the stress and storm of life's battle has abated; they have glided into a peaceful haven, where they hear only the echo of the thundering waves outside.