And it was in this way that a heathen nation furnished the youngest naval hero in existence.
The Little Brown Mole.
BY CLARICE IRENE CLINGHAN.
Three years ago, while spending a few weeks in New York, I was invited to the home of Paul Fancourt, the famous naval architect, whose family residence is on the shore of the Hudson, and but a short distance from the city.
I found my old college friend, whom I had not seen for several years, busily engaged with a set of drawings; but, notwithstanding his enthusiasm in his work, he looked worn, haggard, and unhappy. On the afternoon of the last day of my visit I pinned him down to a serious talk, in the course of which I begged him not to undermine his health by too close application to his favorite pursuit.
With a flitting smile he exclaimed: “Why, it’s all that keeps me alive!” After a moment’s thought he added: “Of late years I have been weighed down by the memory of a dark spot in my life—an unwritten chapter—until at times it seems as though I must make a confidant of some one.”
Upon my assurance that I would be a most willing listener, he related the following history: