A large merry Christmas party was assembled under Sir Baldwin Treherne’s hospitable roof. All sorts of games had been carried on till a late hour, and everybody was in high spirits.
“Oh, if dear Harry was here it would be perfect,” exclaimed one of his sisters, the gentle Mary, who had been his chief playmate in his childhood.
“Oh, Harry is all right, enjoying the warm weather in the West Indies, instead of being frozen as we are here.”
“Lucky dog!” said one of his brothers.
They all went to bed at last. More than one prayer in the house was offered up that night for young Harry’s safety.
Christmas morning came. The sky was overcast, the snow was falling thickly. Sir Baldwin had promised to visit during the day a poor family; the mother lay dying.
“I cannot begin this blessed day better than by a work of love,” he said to himself, as he looked out on the snow-covered landscape. “If I put it off till the afternoon she may no longer be here.”
He never allowed the weather to prevent him from going out. With a thick greatcoat on, a stout stick in one hand, he set forth through the snow on his errand of mercy, long before the rest of the family had left their rooms. He was just going into the cottage when he met Paul Petherwick, with his pilot-coat, sea-boots, and a spy-glass under his arm, accompanied by several of his crew, carrying oars and coils of rope and other ship’s gear.
“What, Paul, are you going to sea such a morning as this—Christmas morning, too?” asked the baronet, in a tone of surprise.
“Yes, Sir Baldwin, that I am; for you see, sir, I was one Christmas day, as you will remember, tossing about on yon stormy sea till my craft was driven on shore, and I and my crew well-nigh lost. I should have been thankful if any brother pilot had been out on that morning to have towed the Sea-Gull into port. For what I know, there are some poor fellows out of their reckoning; and if I can fall in with them, and pilot them up Channel, I shall be doing as I should like to be done by.”