THE hour-hand of the watch that hung at Sister Julia's belt had just reached three as she put the last touch to the table; that last touch consisted in placing, at each seat, a card bearing the name of the person who was to occupy it. Sister Julia had herself prepared the cards in the little leisure she could spare from hospital duties. On each she had painted some little emblem¹ of the sea—a shell, or a spray of seaweed—introducing the name in odd-shaped letters.
 
Then on the reverse side she had enrolled² the entire party in the order of their seats at the table, knowing that some of their number would cherish those little cards as precious souvenirs for many a long year to come.
 
The soup was on the table, and Mrs. Murray having instructed the woman who had been helping³ her just how to bring the dishes to the table, laid aside her great gingham apron⁴, and gave the signal to sit down.
 
“Why, there's one seat too many!” remarked Harry⁵, when all had found their places.
 
“Dear me, why so there is!” exclaimed Sister Julia. “How did that ever happen?”
 
“Why, it happened just this way,” answered a familiar voice; no one could tell just where the voice came from, but all knew whose it was. “It happened just this way. I telegraphed Sister Julia yesterday that if she would put off the dinner till three o'clock I could get through my sermon in time to come, and so here I am, you see,” and Mr. Vale appeared in the door-way, having waited a moment in the vestibule to hang up his coat.
 
The presence of Mr. Vale was just the one thing needed to complete that Thanksgiving dinner in everyone's estimation.
 
Even the men, whose knowledge of English was limited to the parrot-learned “Thank you,” brightened when they saw him. There are faces which bear so plainly the imprint⁶ of love and sympathy, one does not need to speak a common language to comprehend them.
 
“You have come at the right moment,” said Sister Julia, and Mr. Vale, knowing what she meant, bowed his head and asked a blessing⁷. It was a prayer as well as a blessing—a prayer for the future of these sailors, who were so soon again to give their lives to the keeping of the sea; and a prayer for the future of the children, that the whole volume of their life might remain as pure and unsullied as the pages of their childhood—nor did he forget the captain lying on his cot in the little vestry room. His voice seemed to gather additional earnestness as he prayed that he might be restored to perfect health, and take up his life again with a divine trust and courage which should be able to grapple victoriously⁸ with misfortune and despair, should he again be called to meet them.
 
At the close of the blessing Sister Julia thought she heard a low fervent⁹ “Amen” from the recesses¹⁰ of the little vestry room.
 
No doubt it was but natural that everyone at that long table should realise that it was no ordinary occasion. Never did a stranger company sit down to a Thanksgiving dinner under stranger circumstances, but they enjoyed it heartily¹¹, notwithstanding the strangeness.
 
Somehow or other, Mr. Vale knew just the way to draw everybody out, and thanks to him the party, that otherwise might easily have found itself a little stiff and embarrassed, became a very merry one.
 
Captain Murray enlivened the table with two or three old sea yarns¹², and while they were waiting for the dessert to be brought in Mr. Vale induced the sailors to give them two or to be going on, on every side.
 
When at last Mrs. Murray lifted an all-on-fire plum pudding to the table, one of the younger sailors, who was little more than a boy, clapped his hands from sheer delight, and, fired by his enthusiasm, all at the table followed his example. The colour came into Mrs. Murray's round fa............