warm you up; and I will put your things where they will dry."

Harvey drank the tea, and the effect was excellent. A short time before the stove restored the warmth to his body, and he began to feel quite comfortable.

"I feel good now," said he, with a sickly smile. "I'm really a new man."

"Now I wish you would tell me about the wreck," added the woman, as she rocked the cradle till it was a heavy sea for the baby, which threatened it with shipwreck.

"Certainly; I'll tell you all about it," replied Harvey.

He started his story at the West India Islands; but, with his drawl and his hacking cough, he made slow progress. He had not reached the coast of Maine when the woman's husband arrived. Of course he was astonished to find a stranger so comfortably installed in his house; but when his wife explained who the steward was, he became as hospitable and friendly as his wife had been.

"This is my husband, John Carter," said the woman, as the man of the house seated himself at the stove.

"My name is Harvey Barth," added the shipwrecked. "I was cook and steward of the brig Waldo; but she is gone to pieces now."

"Sho! you don't say so!" exclaimed John Carter. "Why, I made a voyage to Savannah myself in the Waldo, before I was married!"

"You will never make another in her. She broke into two pieces, which rolled over and went to the bottom," added Harvey.

"You don't say so! Was Captain Barnwood in her?"

"Yes, he was. Cap'n 'Siah, as we all called him—"

"So did we," interposed John Carter, with a smile.

"Cap'n 'Siah was as nice a man as ever trod a quarter-deck."

"So he was."

"He's gone now," sighed Harvey.

"Was he lost?"

"Yes sir; he was knocked stiff by the lightning, with half a dozen others."

"Sho! Was the brig struck by lightning?"

"She was. It came down the mainmast and knocked the wheel into a thousand pieces. When the steering-gear gave out, we couldn't do anything more. I'm the only one of twelve men and a passenger that was saved."

Harvey Barth commenced his story anew, when the astonishment of John Carter had abated a little, and gave all the particulars of the voyage and the wreck and all the details of his personal history since he kept school in "York State." It was midnight when he had finished, and the details were discussed for an hour afterwards. Mrs. Carter had brought on more hot tea, with pie and cheese, and other eatables, which the steward had consumed in large quantities, for one of the features of his malady was a ravenous appetite. John Carter, who had been detained at the village by the violence of the storm, was as hospitable as any one could be, and Harvey slept that night in the best bed in the house.

After breakfast the next morning he brought out the oil-cloth which contained his diary. He had carefully concealed it when he changed his clothes, and he was now anxious to know whether it had escaped serious injury in the storm. He unfolded the oil-cloth before John Carter and his wife. To his great satisfaction, he found it unharmed by the floods of water which had drenched him. The water-proof covering had secured it even from any dampness.

Harvey opened the book at a certain place, and exhibited between the leaves a thin pile of bank notes—the whole of his worldly wealth, for, as the Waldo was a total loss, the wages that were due him on account of the voyage were gone forever. But there was fifty-two dollars between the leaves of the diary. He had come from home with a good stock of clothing, and had saved nearly all he had earned, including his advance for the West India voyage. At Havana Mr. Carboy had the misfortune to lose his watch overboard, and, as he needed one, Harvey had sold him his—a very good silver one—for twenty-five dollars.

"Now Mr. Carter, I want to pay you for what I've had," drawled Harvey, as he opened the diary, and exposed his worldly wealth.

"Pay me!" exclaimed John Carter, with something like horror in his tones and expression; "take any money from a brother sailor who has been wrecked! I don't know where you got such a bad opinion of me, but I would starve to death, and then be hung and froze to death, before I'd take a cent from you!"

"I am willing to pay for what I've had, and I shall be very much obliged to you besides," added Harvey.

"Not a red. Put up your money. I don't feel right to have you offer it, even," said the host, turning away his head.

"I've always paid my way so far; but I don't know how much longer I shall be able to do so. I'm very thankful to you and Mrs. Carter for what you've done, and I shall write it all down in my diary as soon as I get a chance."

"You are welcome to all we've done; and we only wish it had been more," replied Mrs. Carter.

"I don't think I shall go to sea any more," added Harvey, gloomily. "I have friends in York State, and I have money enough to get back there. That's all I want now. If you will tell me how I can get to New York, I'll be moving on now. I haven't got long to stay in this world, and I mean to spend the rest of my days where I was born and brought up."

"A steamer comes over to the village about three times a week, and she will be over to-day or to-morrow. I will row you over if you say so; but I shall be glad to take care of you as long as you will stay here."

"I'm much obliged to you; but I think I had better go over this forenoon."

Half an hour later the steward shook hands with Mrs. Carter and bade her adieu. John pulled him across the river, as it was called,—though it was more properly a narrow bay, into which a small stream flowed from the high lands farther inland. The village was called Rockhaven, and was a place of considerable importance. It had two thousand tons of fishing vessels; but the granite quarries in the vicinity were the principal sources of wealth to the place Latterly Rockhaven, which was beautifully situated on high land overlooking the waters of the lower bay, had begun to be a place of resort for summer visitors.

The western extremity of the village extended nearly to the high cliffs on the sea-shore, and the situation was very romantic and picturesque. The fishing was the best in the bay, and the rocks were very attractive to people from the city. The harbor had deep water at any time of tide. For a summer residence, the only disadvantage was the want of suitable hotels or boarding-houses. Of the former there were two, of the most homely and primitive character, and not many of the inhabitants who had houses suitable for city people were willing to take boarders.

John Carter pulled his passenger across the harbor, and walked with him to the Cliff House, near the headlong steeps which bounded the village on the west. He introduced him to Peter Bennington, the landlord, and told his story for him.

"I am sorry for you," said Mr. Bennington.

"O, I've got money enough to pay my bill," interposed Harvey Barth, who had a sufficiency of honest pride, and asked nothing for charity's sake.

The landlord showed him to a room, after he had shaken hands with and bidden adieu to John Carter, it was not the best room in the house, but it was neat and comfortable. Harvey inquired about the steamer to Rockland, and was told that she would probably come the next day, and return in the afternoon. The steward made himself comfortable, and ate a hearty dinner when it was ready. In the afternoon he borrowed a pen and ink, and began to write out a full account of the wreck of the Waldo. He wrote a large, round hand, which was enough to convince any