ANOTHER week rolled by, and found the crew of the Christina ready to say good-bye to Moorlow, and yet not ready, for most of them were very loth to go; but the captain was quite recovered, and there was no excuse for their remaining longer. Indeed, Sister Julia thought that those of their number who had sustained no very severe injuries ought to have gone before, but the men seemed anxious to stand by their captain, and she did not quite have the courage to send them off. That such a sad state of things was possible never seemed to enter the mind of any member of the crew. Without being in any sense ungrateful, they simply took everything for granted. With the exception of the captain, not one of them ever questioned where the money came from that provided so generously for their wants during those two weeks. They looked upon Sister Julia as a veritable saint, with illimitable, if not divine, resources, sent to minister to them especially; and the reverential way in which they bade her farewell showed that they so regarded her to the last.
 
All Moorlow was gathered at the station to see them off. Everyone who had contributed in any way to their comfort,—and there were few in Moorlow who had not—felt a sort of responsibility in giving them a cheery “send off.” Even the shabby little Croxsons were there, for had they not run on innumerable errands that morning when the crew were rescued? As the train moved away the captain stood upon the rear platform. A neat little bundle was tucked under one arm, for Nan, not forgetting her resolution, had presented him at the last moment with the warm comforter which she herself had made. The captain waved a red handkerchief until the station was entirely¹ out of sight, and his last glance, before he turned and went into the car, was toward the hull² of the Christina, which he could plainly see just where she had stranded³ that stormy November morning. It seemed to him as though he were saying good-bye to all his past, and with a courage that surprised him he was ready to make a new start. He was very grateful for the fact that his men were thoroughly⁴ loyal to him, and felt pretty sure that with such a crew at his service he could easily gain command of some vessel⁵ plying⁶ between Spain and the United States. So it was that with a contented⁷ smile he took a seat in the midst of his crew, and, encouraged by their captain's good cheer, the dark-eyed men soon fell to conversing⁸ in the liveliest manner in their native Spanish, much to the amusement of their fellow-passengers.
 
It had been a very exciting fortnight for quiet Moorlow, but in a marvellously short space of time everything settled back into the old grooves⁹. The little church soon looked as sober and decorous as though it had never served as a temporary hospital, or known the savoury odours of a Thanksgiving dinner.
 
A December storm had beaten the Christina's hull literally¹⁰ to pieces, and nothing was left to tell the story of the wreck¹¹ save the shell which had been shot out with the whip-line, and which Captain Murray, according to custom, had lettered and dated, and hung in the Life-saving Station; a trophy¹² of which the crew had good reason to be proud.
 
The children had resumed their lessons, and Regie was counting the days till Papa and Mamma Fairfax would board the homeward-bound steamer at Liverpool. The three months, which had seemed a long time to look forward to, had slipped away very quickly, and Harry¹⁴ and Nan and himself were full of joyous¹⁵ anticipation¹⁶, for a glorious plan was on foot.
 
Mr. Fairfax had written very urgently asking that the Murray children might be allowed to spend the Christmas holidays with Regie in town. Captain Murray had only given his consent very reluctantly, for he knew the Moorlow Christmas would be a sorry affair without the children; but nevertheless he had given it, and Nan and Harry's respective heads were almost turned with delight at the prospect¹⁷.
 
It is doubtful if the liveliest imagination could picture all that a whole week in New York meant to these little Murrays. They had never been there for more than a day at a time, and then only at rare intervals¹⁸, and it was not strange that stolen whispers in lesson hours, and long chats out of them, all bore upon the delightful¹⁹ subject of this visit, until, in Sister Julia's estimation, the children were devoting too much time to sitting indoors, and plotting and planning, and not enough to out-of-door exercise; so she put her wits to work to devise some scheme to bring about a change of affairs.
 
“There is one thing, Regie,” she said, “over which your Papa Fairfax will be very much disappointed when he comes home.”
 
She spoke²⁰ so seriously, that Regie looked up at her with a very troubled face, which said, as plainly as words, “Whatever do you mean?”
 
“Why, you haven't a single picture to show him. In all this while not a photograph have you taken.”
 
“That's so,” with a sigh; “but then I don't believe he'll expect it. You can't do much photographing in cold weather; besides, there's nothing to take in winter.”
 
“You said once that you'd like to take a good picture of me,” Nan remarked, showing that she did not consider that the low state of the thermometer in any way diminished her charms, as indeed it did not. There was not a prettier or more breezy little specimen²¹ of humanity in existence than Nan on one of these wintry afternoons, when she had just, come in from an hour's buffeting²² with wind and weather on the beach.
 
“Yes, I would like a good picture of you, Nan,” said Regie, patronisingly, looking at her with his head on one side, after the meditative²³ fashion of an artist regarding his model. “The trouble is, I don't know of any place in this house where you can get a good enough light.”
 
“And why in the house, pray?” asked Sister Julia; “it is not a bit too cold to try your hand out of doors. This is just a perfect winter's day, and there is no wind to blow, your camera over.”
 
“That's so,” assented²⁴ Regie again, “I'm going to get ready,” and suiting the action to the word he bounded out of the room, and the body-guard followed his example.
 
At the time that Mr. Fairfax had seen fit to endow Regie with a photographing outfit²⁵, he had, with no little painstaking²⁶, carefully instructed him as just to how the whole process, from beginning to end, must be managed. As a result Regie had succeeded in producing some first-rate pictures, “all his own work, too,” as he would have told you proudly. But that was more than a year ago, and before he knew Nan and Harry. He had some fine plans for the summer just ended, but that unlucky fall from the cherry tree bough²⁷ had prevented his carrying them out. To be sure, within the last few weeks, since the little leg had so thoroughly mended, he might have gotten to work again as easily as could be, but the excitement following the wreck of the Christina had driven all thought of it out of his mind.
 
The fact that Nan knew that Regie could take pictures accounted in a measure, perhaps, for the reverence²⁸ with which she regarded him; but Harry was as doubtful of his real ability as in the matter of the earning of the money for the hospital fund, and he hailed with delight the chance he was about to have to put him to the test.
 
Harry and Nan were ready in no time, but with the amateur photographer, “getting ready” is a mysterious and laborious²⁹ proceeding³⁰, and Rex failed to put in an appearance.
 
The body-guard waited and waited till, their patience exhausted³¹, they scaled the stairway leading to His Royal Highness's private apartment, but His Majesty³² was nowhere to be seen.
 
“Why, where is Rex?” cried Nan.
 
“I'm in here,” answered a muffled³³ voice.
 
“What, in the closet?” and Harry rushed for it.
 
“Yes, but don't open the door for the world. I'm filling my plate-holders.”
 
Harry and Nan looked at each other as much as to say, “What in creation is he talking about?” then by tacit consent they noiselessly crouched³⁵ down by the closet door, and Harry peeped through the keyhole.
 
His face grew pale, and with a terrified expression he drew Nan over so that she could take a look; then with precipitate³⁶ haste they fled from the room.
 
“Oh, Sister Julia!” cried Nan.
 
“Regie's shut up in his closet,” cried Harry.
 
“And we looked through the keyhole and saw an awful red light,” interrupted Nan.
 
“And we think he has set the closet on fire, and you had better go and see to it right away,” interrupted Harry, very much surprised that Sister Julia did not seem in the least alarmed.
 
“Why, he's only filling his plate-holders,” she exclaimed, laughing,
 
“Yes,” nodded Nan, her eyes as large as saucers, “he said something like that.”
 
“Of course he did, and the fire you thought you saw is the light from his ruby³⁷ lantern.”
 
“His what!” exclaimed Harry; then, after a little pause, he added, “Say! won't you explain to us something about it?” Ashamed that he had shared Nan's fright, and foreseeing that he would be obliged to ask Regie more questions than would be at all agreeable.
 
“Why, certainly,” answered Sister Julia, with a smile still playing about the corners of her mouth. “You see they take these pictures on a plate, that is a square glass which comes for the purpose, coated with a dry, white preparation. Mr. Fairfax buys them in boxes holding a dozen each, and when Regie wants to take pictures he has to take them from the box and put them in his plate-holders. The plate-holders are a sort of little boxes that fit in the back of his camera.”
 
“His cam-e-ra?” drawled Nan.
 
“Yes, that is the name of the instrument he takes the pictures with, but it will ruin the plate to let a ray of daylight touch it before he is ready to take the picture, so Rex must needs go into a dark closet, and light his ruby lantern, when the time comes for filling his plate-holders.”
 
 
Regie appeared on the scene just then, with his apparatus³⁹ in his arms, and the trio marched off, the King all unconscious of the fright he had given the body-guard, and the body-guard intending never to enlighten him on the subject.
 
“What shall we take?” said Regie, when they had gone a little way down the beach. “I wish we had enough for a group. I like to take groups best.”
 
“What is a group?” Nan asked, shyly.
 
“Why, a group's a lot of people, goosie,” Harry answered, for he enjoyed answering questions in direct proportion to his dislike to asking them.
 
“Would the Croxsons do, then?” Nan queried⁴⁰ timidly, often feeling more or less subdued⁴¹ by Harry's “goosie.”
 
“The very thing,” replied Rex; “they're so queer-looking, they'll make a jolly funny group.”
 
“Shall I go for them while you're getting your camera ready?” remarked Harry, airing his knowledge of the photographic terms. Regie nodded yes, and Harry was off.
 
“Wouldn't it be nice to take them in that?” said Nan, pointing to one of the fishermen's boats drawn⁴² up upon the beach.
 
“Of course it would. You're splendid for thinking of things, Nan,” Regie replied, proceeding to get his instrument in order. Nan helped him as best she could, very happy over the fact that such an important personage as he was considered her splendid for anything.
 
Meanwhile the Croxsons were hurrying into a miscellaneous assortment⁴³ of threadbare out-of-door wraps, which were supposed to keep the cold out, but in point of fact did nothing of the sort. They were highly elated over the prospect of having their photographs taken. Not one of them had ever experienced that sensation before.
 
“W-w-won't it be a lark⁴⁴ to be t-t-took?” stuttered little Madge, beside herself with excitement; and the flushed faces of the other four children s............