watch till nine o'clock. He would not allow her to stay longer, knowing that her young brain had need of more sleep than his. She watched him trim and light the lamp, and learned thoroughly how it was made, and how it must be managed. Then they got out their books and her slate. Her father taught her what he knew of arithmetic, and even the first principles of navigation, which he had studied and practised when young. Then she read a while to him. On clear nights they looked from a little window, in the watch room, out at the stars and tried to find the constellations. They saw the Great Bear grandly hold its steady course around the North Star, and traced the sun's path among the glittering signs of the Zodiac. Then she would nestle up by her father, on the little lounge made by his own hands, and beg for a story, old yarns of the sea, accounts of strange foreign lands, shipwrecks, storms and battles, he could tell her of. The old legends of this wild rough coast delighted her, but she little dreamed how she herself was

but a waif of the sea tossed upon this stormy shore. She imagined she was born on the island, and never wondered at her own fair locks and blue eyes, when Ephraim and Susan both had the dark brown hair and soft chestnut eyes, common among Americans. Her father told her much of the history of the country too, of the early days of the Pilgrims, of the Revolution, of the horrors of the slave trade, and of the labors of the noble men who were now trying to spread liberty throughout the land. The hours sped quickly away, even when their watch began at four o'clock; and when she took her lantern and went down the iron steps, her father listened with beating heart to the pat of her little feet, and counted every one of the hundred and fifty-six steps, and then with a heart full of love and thanksgiving to God, turned to finish his faithful watch alone.

The other evenings she sat with Susan, who taught her all kinds of sewing and knitting. They alternately read or chatted with each other, or relieved their labors with a little

game of back-gammon, jackstraws or Tommy-come-tickle-me.

I am afraid I have talked too long about this little girl's life, for it seems very pleasant to me, and I love to think of her there with that dear father and mother. But I must finish my story.

CHAPTER V.

JENNY'S WATCH.

THE boat has left the stormy land,—

A stormy sea before her ;

When, oh! too strong for human hands

The tempest gathered o'er her.

CAMPBELL.

ENNY grew up in this healthy, happy life, as strong and brave and sweet as a White Pine tree. Do

you know anything better in a summer day, when the soft winds are singing sweet airs of heaven in its branches? Yet how it stands the winter storms; always calm and brave, always green and fair. Such was our Jenny; sweet, loving, and tender, but strong and firm as a rock. She was sixteen years old now, and it was hard to say whether she was more a woman in thoughtful, earnest helpfulness, or a child in loving simplicity.

It was late in the autumn when the days

are very short, but, in our favored climate, often very beautiful, that Susan and Ephraim went over to the mainland one day to make some purchases. Susan wanted to lay in her stock of yarn and cloth, &c., for her winter industry, and Ephraim had, as usual, many little errands to attend to. Unfortunately in stepping over some of the rocks on her way to the town, Susan fell and severely sprained her ancle. She was carried into a farmer's house, where she was placed in bed. It was impossible for her to return home. The sprain was very bad, and there is no carriage road to the shore. She could only be borne thither on men's arms, and the emergency did not seem to justify such a labor. The good farmer and his wife made her kindly welcome, and Ephraim had no choice but to return without her.

The care of the household thus fell upon Jenny. After her work was done, she every day rowed over to visit Susan and give her an account of every little occurrence in the home, which would interest her and relieve