It was a lovely evening in August. The sun was setting in a blaze of splendour over the sparkling sea. The smooth shaven lawns and sweep of park land around the fine old Tudor house were looking their loveliest upon an evening like this, and down by the sea, just where the ran up through a belt of woodland, and into the very garden itself, a man and a boy were waiting beside a neat little boat, fitted with cushions and other of comfort, as if in expectation that somebody from the great house behind the trees would shortly be coming down for an evening row or sail.  
The man and the boy were both dressed in suits of sailor blue. Their caps were of the same pattern, and had in gold letters round them the words, "Prince Rupert." The same words were painted in letters upon the pretty boat; and the little boy—who was none other than Pat, only grown wonderfully brown and healthy and strong-looking—sometimes glanced at the name with a smile, and then up at Jim's smart head-gear.
 
"This is better than Rock, isn't it, Jim?" he said, breaking the silence which had lasted some considerable time. "We didn't think last summer ever to be in a place like this."
 
"No, that we didn't," answered Jim, with the smile, which was now so frequently seen, and which lightened his face wonderfully. "It's a better place than ever I dreamed of once; though I know now there's a better one still waiting for us by-and-by."
 
Jim's face lighted as he with a look that Pat was used to seeing there now, and which always filled him with a certain wonder and . Jim had been up and about again for some little time now. He had the sole charge of the three boats which were kept in the boathouse in the creek, and used by the people in the big house whenever they wanted a sail or a row. No more clean and boat-keeper had ever been known, and all who came to the house noticed Jim, and had a kind word for him. But it was already quite plain that the man would never be fit for hard work again. He had received an injury on the night of the storm which baffled the skill of all the clever doctors who had been called in to see him. They could "patch him up" for a little while; they could give him sufficient ease and strength to enable him to get about his light daily tasks with comfort and pleasure. He could sail a boat in the bay in fine weather, or gently scull the light little Prince Rupert about with its young master as passenger. But that was about all he was fit for, and those who had heard the doctors' verdict knew that any winter he was liable to be carried suddenly off through the injury to the lung, which had so nearly caused his death whilst he lay in the lighthouse under the care of Eileen. Jim knew this himself as well as any one, but the thought gave him no trouble or anxiety. He was wonderfully happy and in his life; yet he was as ready as ever to go over the unknown sea if the Lord should hold out His hand and bid him come.
 
"Do you miss her very much?" asked Pat, after a pause, turning his eyes towards the sea in the direction of the Lone Rock, which in very clear weather could be from the garden wall. "You were fond of her, and knew her better than the rest of us. Do you think she misses you now that you're gone?"
 
"Why, no, I hardly think she do," answered Jim, with a smile; "I'd got into the way of thinking and speaking of her as though she were alive—it seemed a bit of company when one was all alone. But when I wasn't alone any more, why, she didn't seem to be more than a big lamp then. I always look out for her of a night when the light shines over the sea, but I don't seem to want to be over there no more. It's wonderful how one grows to like the life one has to lead. I used to think I'd never be happy off Lone Rock, and now——"
 
"I know you're happy here, Jim," said Pat, with a quick upward glance of loving ; "you always look so happy!"
 
"I oughter to be ashamed of myself, if I wasn't," said Jim. "If I was a prince I couldn't be better took care of, and me able to do so little. It 'ud make me ashamed, it would, if our lady wasn't the sweetest mistress that ever drew breath. It does one good to see her face day by day. It's like a bit of God's sunshine come down on earth—that's what it is."
 
"Yes, I do love her, and little Prince Rupert too," answered Pat eagerly. "Oh, Jim! what a thing it's been for us your swimming into the sea that night and pulling him out. It hurt you a great deal, I know; but you're glad you went, aren't you?"
 
Jim's face wore a look that it often did when his thoughts were growing beyond his powers of expression. It was some little time before he tried to speak.
 
"Yes, Pat, lad, I'm glad enough I went; but I'd have been just as glad, I hope, if it hadn't brought none of these good things to us."
 
"Do you mean you'd have been glad if you'd had to go to the workhouse as mother was afraid once?" asked Pat, with wide-open eyes; and Jim looked at the boy with a curious half-smile in his eyes.
 
"Well, I suppose the Lord Jesus is with His folks in the workhouse as well as anywhere else, Pat, and if so be as He's there, I can't think it could be such a bad place. I know old folks make a deal of fuss against going there, and may be it's right to struggle as long as one can to earn a living oneself; , I'm sure it is. But if so be as He sends sickness, and there's nothing else for it, why, I suppose He'll be there to take the sting away, like as He does always. I don't think folks think quite enough about that when they talk agin the workhouse. It's the way we get into of thinking all about ourselves and scarce a bit about Him."
 
"That's not your way, Jim," said Pat warmly; "I think you're always thinking of Him."
 
"I've got so much lost time to make up, you see, Pat," answered the man gravely; "I'd never thought of Him, and of all He'd done for me, till you brought it back to me again. I've lived the best part of my life without Him. It's wonderful how He'll take the poor bit that's left, when all one's best years were spent in forgetting and scorning Him."
 
Pat looked grave and said nothing. The thought ............