Hartley,” called a cheery voice from somewhere forward. Chris was on his feet in an instant, and turning in the direction of the voice, discovered Mr. Harris and Captain Revell. It is astonishing how much can be couched in the ring of a word when one looks carefully to it; and the tone in which Mr. Harris called “Hartley” was enough to put Chris at his ease in an instant, and to make him hurry to the little gate with all fears as to his reception skurrying to the winds. Mr. Harris at once introduced him to Captain Revell, and Captain Revell as speedily informed him of the call with which Marie-Celeste had favored him and of her errand. “We are good friends, Marie-Celeste and I,” said Hartley proudly, “and I was counting on seeing something of her on the way over, but I understand now, of course, how it cannot be, and that we must content ourselves with a word now and then here at the gate, if Mr. Harris is willing.”

“But you are mistaken, Hartley,” said the captain cordially, for he took to the man the moment he saw him. “There is nothing to prevent your little friend from making you a visit whenever she likes. I have shown her the way myself through the passage below decks, and you are welcome to come forward in the same fashion whenever the bow has any attraction for you. As you are alone, you will hardly be missed from the second cabin, and it will be unnecessary to inform anyone of your special privileges;” and then the captain, who had an aversion to being thanked, moved hurriedly away before Chris had had a chance to put his gratitude into words.

“She’s a fearless little body, that little daughter of ours,” said Mr. Harris at the close of the long talk he and Chris had been having at the gate. “I sometimes wonder what we had better do about it. She arrives at decisions so quickly and acts so promptly and is so outspoken, that she’ll get herself and all of us into serious trouble some day, I imagine.”

“Never you fear, Mr. Harris,” said Chris warmly; “that kind do more good than harm;” and Mr. Harris believed in his heart that Chris was right. On thinking it over, he wondered too if he had not been rather easily annoyed with Marie-Celeste that morning, and if, on the whole, she had not been more brave than bold in her call upon the captain.. He would have been quite sure on that score had he known how the little heart had thumped and the little knees trembled as she made her way to the captain’s room. But in any case he did not regret having put the little daughter on her guard. It would help rather than hinder that little woman’s numerous projects should she learn to think twice before putting her quick resolves into action.

Meantime, Marie-Celeste herself had been making a new friend. A gentleman, entered on the passenger list as Mr. E. H. Belden, sat just at the entrance of the main stairway, a cigar poised in his left hand, a book balanced in his right; the book closed for the moment, with his forefinger marking the place, and his elbow resting on the arm of his steamer-chair. To all appearances, Mr. E. H. Belden was absorbed in meditation, and presumably in a line of thought suggested by the book be had temporarily suspended reading—a line of thought, at any rate, that made him wholly oblivious to his surroundings. It was somewhat of a surprise, therefore, for him to find his book flying out of one hand with a momentum that swept the cigar out of the other; but he did not need to look far or long for an explanation. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” gasped a breathless little body, as quickly as she could reverse engines and bring herself in front of the offended party. “It was very careless of me. I slipped because I tried to turn too short a corner. Please let me get the book for you,” and she bounded to the spot where it had landed, while Mr. Belden, detecting a faint scorching odor, hastened to rescue the lighted cigar from the folds of a steamer rug lying on the next chair.

“I hope it hasn’t strained the cover,” said Marie-Celeste, looking the book over carefully before returning it. “They are a little too fine for steamer use, aren’t they?” for it was a volume from the ship’s library, and boasted a costly half-calf binding.

“Yes, rather too fine,” attracted and pleased by the child’s friendliness; “but you have not done it any harm, I think.”

“There was no use in my being in such a burry. I think I will make myself sit right down here a few moments for punishment.”

“I would, by all means,” said Mr. Belden, smiling at the inference to be drawn from the remark.

“I was only on my way to our state-room for a book,” Marie-Celeste further explained. “It is called ‘The Story of a Short Life.’ Did you ever read it?”

“No, but I think I should like it, for I find life rather too stupidly long myself.”

“Why, how is that?” Marie-Celeste exclaimed, as though nothing could possibly have more interest for her, as indeed, for the moment, nothing could.

“Oh, I fancy I cannot exactly make you understand how. I haven’t very good health, that’s one reason; and too much money, that’s another; and not very much faith in human nature, for a third; besides, no one in the world that I care very much for; so you see I am in rather a bad plight.” Marie-Celeste sat and stared at Mr. Belden, and Mr. Belden, all intent, closely watched the effect of this somewhat unusual declaration.

“What is your family motto?” she queried, after a moment’s serious reflection.

“Why in Heaven do you ask that?” for Mr. Belden, who was not in the habit of talking to children, was not as wise as he might have been in his choice of words.

Marie-Celeste straightened up a little, as though to show she did not quite approve, and then she replied, with an air of childish dignity that was vastly amusing, “Because it was his family motto that helped Leonard (he’s the boy in the story I spoke about) ever so much, and that taught him to be cheerful and contented, and it seems to me”—this last very slowly and thoughtfully—“that you are very much like Leonard, only grown up. I suppose, as you’re English, you’ve surely got a family motto.”

“How do you know I’m English?”

“Oh, because papa said, when you were walking on the deck last evening, that ‘you were very English indeed.’”

“Well, do you think, on the whole, that your father meant to be complimentary?”

“1 do not know exactly, but papa likes almost everything in England, and we have some English relatives whom we are very fond of. They live in Windsor, and we are going to spend the summer with them.”

“In Windsor?” with evident surprise; “and what is their name, may I ask?”

“Harris, the same as ours;” for Marie-Celeste detected nothing unusual in the question.

“So?” and then, as Mr. Belden seemed suddenly to retire into himself and his own thoughts, she made a move to go.

“Oh, don’t go yet; seems to me you ought to talk to me a while longer, if only for punishment, as you said.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t say quite that,” for the first time appreciating the situation; “but anyhow I shall not bother about it, because you know what I meant.”

“Of course I do,” more touched than he would have cared to admit by her confiding friendliness; “but I want you to wait,” he added, “while I try to answer your question about our family motto. I’ve never thought much about it, but it’s ‘Dwell as though about to depart,’ or some cheerful stuff like that. It’s the kind of a motto, you see, to give one an unsettled sort of feeling, instead of making him contented.”

“It’s queer,” said Marie-Celeste, “but I believe—yes, I’m sure that very motto stands at the head of one of the chapters in my book.”

“Indeed? Why, then, I should like to read it. Will you have finished with it before the voyage is over?”

“Oh, I’m through with it now really. I’ll get it for you right away,” and suiting the action to the word, she was off one moment and back the next with the book in her hand.

“Tell me a little what it’s about, please,” urged Mr. Belden, unwilling to let this new little friend give him the slip, and nothing loath, Marie-Celeste settled comfortably back in the steamer-chair beside him.

“You think it won’t spoil it for you?” she asked, by way of preface.

“Not a bit of it.”

And thus reassured, she launched out upon a detailed narration of Mrs. Ewing’s beautiful story, graphically describing little Leonard’s fortunes and trials, and his heroic self-mastery at the last.



0044

“You see he wasn’t a goody boy at all,” she said, when all was told, “just brave and grand.”

“I see,” said Mr. Belden, which was quite true, notwithstanding a strange and wholly new sensation in his eyes. “And now if you will excuse me,” he added, “I will go down to the smoking-room and commence the book at once.”

Marie-Celeste was rather surprised to find herself left thus abruptly alone. Happily for her, however, she did not know how sadly akin to Leonard’s had been some of Mr. Belden’s experiences, or she would have flinched a little in the telling. It was the realization of this kinship of experience and yet of the widely different effect upon soul and character that had impelled him to take his sudden leave of Marie-Celeste, and then, pausing a moment at the smoking-room door, he went on and down to his state-room, for he had much to think over, and a long, long time he sat there, his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his hands.