The day to sail came. At an early hour the vessel was to weigh anchor, and just as the approaching day began to paint the eastern horizon an orange hue, John rose and prepared to depart. All the town was quiet. His children were sleeping, and he bent over them and pressed a kiss upon the cheek of each, murmuring a faint:
"God bless you!"
"Shall I awake them?" his wife asked.
"No, no; the parting will be much easier if they sleep.
"Dear, I do so regret your going!" sobbed Mrs. Stevens, genuine tears gathering in her eyes.
"Heaven grant, Dorothe, it may not be for long."
"I will go with you to the boat," she said, hurriedly dressing herself.
John's small effects had been carried aboard the evening before, so he had only to go on board himself. As Mrs. Stevens buckled her shoes, she repeated:
"I do so regret your going. I shall be so anxious about you and so lonesome."
[Illustration: Once more he bent over the sleeping children.]