a storm off Cape Horn. Some of the crew, including the chief mate, got ashore; but the captain, Robert Merritt, and the second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship. The Morning Star was owned at Cardiff, and was making for San Francisco with a general cargo."

Jim read the paragraph over several times. The letters seemed blurred and running into one another; only the words, "the second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship," stood out clear and distinct, as if raised above the surrounding type.

"There may be a chance yet," suggested Dick, who was hurt by the look of pain on his chum's face. "It isn't certain that your father is drowned."

"No," said Jim absently; "it isn't certain."

Then he put the paper into his pocket and turned to go in.

"Shall I tell my mother to come round?" asked Dick.

"Not to-night—thanks. No, we shall be better by ourselves."

Nodding to Dick, he stepped into the passage and closed the door gently. Then he went quietly to the room where his mother had laid tea. There was nothing of value in the house, for the family had been particularly unfortunate during the last few years. In spite of many obstacles Mr. Hartland had worked his way up to the position of mate, but on his first voyage as an officer had met with an accident which kept him in hospital for months. Then he found it hard to secure another berth, and during the time of his enforced idleness the best of his furniture had been parted with to buy food. Few people knew this, however, as the Hartlands, who were very proud, kept their troubles to themselves.

Mrs. Hartland was a notable housewife, and had a certain amount of taste, which enabled her to make the house look nice. The room which Jim entered was quite attractive. A few nicely-framed black-and-white pictures hung on the walls; long curtains draped the window tastefully; the grate shone by reason of many applications of elbow-polish; everything was beautifully clean. A cloth of snowy whiteness covered the table, and the various articles set out for use showed evidence of capable cleaning.

"Make haste, my boy!" exclaimed his mother cheerfully; "your tea is poured out. Dick and you have had a long gossip."

"Jim's tired, and I don't wonder at it," remarked Susie.

The boy sat down in his usual place and forced himself to eat and drink. His mother, who was proud of the praise he had won, talked about the match.

"There was only one thing wanted to make the day a complete success," said she. "When you were on the platform with all those gentlemen I could not help wishing that your father had been looking on."

Jim put down his cup, so that she should not see how his hand trembled, and bit his lip to keep from crying out. The paper seemed to rustle in his pocket, and he made up his mind to tell her the truth at once.

But how? He could not say, "Father will never know anything about it, because he is lying at the bottom of the sea!" Yet it must be done. His mother must not be left to hear the terrible news from a stranger.

While he still hesitated, Susie, who had sharp ears, exclaimed, "Listen, there's the paper-boy. I can hear him shouting, 'Latest Special!'"

"Run, Jim, quick!" cried his mother, taking a half-penny from her pocket. She was as excited as Susie at the thought of seeing her boy's name in print.

Jim tried to stand, but his limbs tottered, and he sat down again.

In an instant his mother, forgetful of the paper, was by his side. "You have overdone yourself, my boy," she said. "All that running about has been too much for you."

"No," said the boy, and he spoke with difficulty; "I am all right, mother!" and then, with a wild cry, "O mother, mother, how can I tell you? It's about the Morning Star, and—and father!"

Mrs. Hartland did not cry out or make a scene; only her lips twitched painfully, and she laid a hand on the table to steady herself.

"Tell me the worst, Jim," she whispered bravely; and the boy drew the paper from his pocket with trembling fingers.

"Read it," she said simply; and he tried hard, but his voice broke down before the end of the first sentence.

Then she looked at it herself, but the letters seemed only black dots which danced about and intermingled as if trying to hide from her.

"Give it to me, mother," said Susie.

For the moment they had forgotten her, but the sound of her voice sent a fresh arrow of pain through the mother's heart. But Susie was used to sorrow, and drew strength from her very weakness. Steadily she read through the paragraph from beginning to end, while her mother stood, white-faced and tearless, drinking in every word.

"The second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship!"

To the woman and children in that little room the words formed the whole paragraph.

"Went down with the ship!" A simple phrase enough, and not uncommon, but perhaps it is as well that we do not always realize the misery and sorrow lying behind it.

A deep hush fell as Susie finished reading. The sun had gone down, the evening shadows were gathering fast; soon it would be time to light the lamp, but no one moved.

A loud rat-tat at the door startled them; and Jim, going out, found a messenger boy with a telegram. It was from the owners of the Morning Star, but contained no further information than had appeared in the evening paper.

"It is very kind of them," said Mrs. Hartland "but I am glad you told me first, Jim."

"We don't know yet that father is drowned!" exclaimed Susie stoutly. "He might have been picked up by another ship. I have read of such things."

Neither Jim nor his mother answered her; the idea was too wild to be considered seriously.

The boy did not realize all that his father's death meant to him, for he was young, and his experience of life had not been great. But his mother, while grieving bitterly for the dead man who had loved her so devotedly, had to think of the living.

Through the long night hours, while the children forgot their sorrow in sleep, she lay thinking, thinking earnestly about their future. She had planned great things for Jim, had built splendid castles in the air for him; and now, at a blow, they came tumbling about her ears.

"Poor boy!" she said softly to herself; "I fear it will change the whole of his life."