“As he neared the land, one curling white breaker seemed gently to lift the boat on to the next, until at last it was landed on a great white stretch of beach. It seemed to the captain such a beautiful shore, that he wondered if it might be heaven; and if it was, he knew he had no right there. He tried to lift himself up and step out of the little boat, but somehow he was not able to do that; so he lay quite still and contented, looking up at the stars overhead,—wonderful stars they were, for the only light there was came from them, and yet he could see everything plainly. At last the stars seemed to grow dim and still more dim, and the captain turned himself over on the silk cushions of the boat and fell asleep. When he awoke he stared about him with a wondering gaze, for everything looked so strange. He was no longer in the silk-cushioned boat, but lying on a cot in a little room, a queer little room, with a carved oaken partition, and soft red curtains running along two sides of it. He could not see very plainly, for the light was low in the room, and he could not tell where it came from. He felt something heavy on his head, and put his hand up, for he remembered that he had thought that the little red boat had landed him in heaven. But alas! there was no crown, only a tightly-bound bandage, and the moment his hand touched it he guessed why it was there, and that he was only a shipwrecked captain whom someone had cared for. But where was he? A door led out of his little room—into what? Why, it looked like a church; yes, it was surely a church,' for the moonlight was streaming through the chancel window, and he could see the communion table and some one sitting beyond the chancel rail. How strange! What could it mean? He put his hand to his head again to make sure of the bandage, and that he was not dreaming. And now the figure has left the table, and is moving toward him. It comes gently to the side of his cot, and he can see that it is a woman, a woman with the face of an angel. The captain looks up at her with a wondering gaze; but she puts her finger to her lips as a sign that he must not speak. Then she makes the light brighter in the room, and draws a chair to his side, and tells him in a low, sweet voice all about himself—how he happens to be in the vestry of the little church; and finally she tells him that she means to take care of him until he is entirely well again. But the captain almost wishes he may never be well again, if he may only have that angel face to watch over him.”
“That angel was Sister Julia,” said Nan, with a sigh, as though to relieve her overcharged little heart.
“Yes, that was Sister Julia,” assented the captain.
“But you said there were little angels, too,” Nan said, innocently.
“Certainly. I have a picture of the little archangel (that is, the principal one) here beside me,” and the captain placed a little frame in Nan's eager hands.
Of course it proved to be only a little mirror, in which she saw the reflection of her own fair little face.
“Do you call a round chubby face like that the face of an angel?” she laughed, holding the little mirror at arm's length and looking in, in a funny, half-critical fashion.
“Yes, I do. It has been a real angel face to me, coming in and out of this vestry room with its bright smiles.”
“Why, where is Nan?” someone called just then.
“Coming, Sister Julia,” Nan answered, jumping to her feet, and with an effort lifting one of the heavy fruit dishes.