'Yes, Kate; and then bring the little one to say good night. I am expecting my letters presently, and will say good night to her now.'
'Shure, sor, but ould Foster tuk her out on the brow of the hill to see the stheamer comin' in, and he's not brought her back yet. He's a terrible conthrary man, he is, and would sphoil any child.'
Mr. Wallis smiled in his grave way, as he rose and went to the door leading out upon the verandah.
'You are just as bad as he is, Kate. And you, Jack, are worse than either. Between you all Nita is being spoilt.'
'And you, father, are the very worst of all,' said Jack, laying down his gun, and putting his sun-burnt hand on his father's shoulder. 'Why, old Foster knows it as well as Kate and I do.'
As Kate lit the lamp, father and son stepped out on the broad verandah, and paced to and fro together, as they had done almost every evening since Tom had been taken from their life. Much as they had grown to love the dark-eyed child who had come to them at that dreadful time, their thoughts were now, as they had always been, with the memories of the happier past, when Tom was with them, and his merry, boyish tones were sounding in their ears as he disputed with old Foster or argued with faithful Kate.
Just as Wellington, the black stockman, came cantering up to the gate with the letters and papers, old Foster and little Nita Casalle came up from the beach. The old man had taken her down to the wharf to see the William the Fourth come in, and, instead of her usual joyous prattle when she was with Foster, she entered the house silently, and with the traces of tears on her face.
'What is the matter, Nita?' said Jack, bending down and kissing her.
A suppressed sob escaped from her. 'I saw a man, Jack--I saw a man who looked so like my father that I had to cry.'
'Indeed she did, sir,' said Foster to Mr. Wallis. 'He was one of the steerage passengers on board the steamer, and I must say he's mortal like Miss Nita's father.'