The two men took their oars, and began to pull in the direction of the ship that was lying out some distance from the harbour. Charlie had found himself a snug little corner in the stern of the boat, and was enjoying himself thoroughly in a quiet way, catching at the bits of floating seaweed and chips, spreading his fingers out like the arches of a miniature bridge, and letting the water rush through them, occasionally munching at his huge bun by way of variation. For a wonder Charlie's busy tongue was still; he saw by his father's countenance that he was not in a mood for talking. It wore a troubled, saddened expression; he was living over the old sorrow that Charlie's words had called up. His uncle, too, seemed in deep thought, and rowed on in silence; although they were unconscious of it, perhaps, there is no doubt that all three felt the influence of that beautiful calm summer evening. The rich hues of the setting sun were gradually fading out from the sky, yet wonderful shades of crimson, rose colour, and gold, still lingered lovingly amongst the clouds, and rested upon the waters. All the bustle of the town had been left far behind; there was nothing to break the silence but the measured plash of the oars, and the soft rippling and murmuring of the water as the little boat rode lightly over the waves. As Charlie gazed up at the glorious sky, he began to wonder where the sun went to every night, and how it was that there were always such lovely colours in the sky just where it disappeared; at last he came to the conclusion that the sun went into heaven, and that beautiful golden and rose-coloured light streamed out when the door was opened. Charlie liked this idea so much, that he was quite disappointed when he learned afterwards that it was not the case. "What a grand place heaven must be!" thought Charlie, remembering what he had heard at Sunday school. "How splendid God's angels must look, floating about in that beautiful light, with their white robes and crowns of gold!" Charlie went on thinking and thinking much in the same strain, until at last the ship was neared. Morley Scott brought in his oars with a sudden movement, and springing up in the boat, hailed the ship, "_Refuge_ ahoy!" CHAPTER II. GOING HOME. It is more than hour since we left Morley Scott hailing the _Refuge_. How is it that the ship has not been moved yet? And here is the little boat turned homeward, and strangers have the charge of it. Is Charlie asleep, that he lies there so pale and still? he has not moved once since we looked. And that something lying in the boat, covered by a ship's colour, what can it be? The night air is damp and chill, and the sea looks grey and deadly in the twilight. One of the sailors leans forward to look at Charlie. "Poor little one," he murmurs, in a kind but sad tone.