“Yes, my little man, it is Uncle Fred; and if Uncle Fred had only been here a few minutes earlier, all this should not have happened. I am very sorry those rascally nephews of mine have given you such a fright; but you will be a brave boy, I know, and not think of it more than you can help, and you will be none the worse in the long run.” Bertie remembered all about it now, and he began to tremble in spite of the kindly pressure of Uncle Fred’s arm round him. “What is the matter, my child? You are not afraid now?” “No—not exactly—if they won’t do it again.” “I will take care they do not.” “They said they would throw me in to teach me to swim,” and the child’s teeth chattered at the bare recollection. Uncle Fred muttered some words that Bertie did not catch, and then said aloud,— “Never you mind what they said. They shall never have another chance.” [Illustration] Something in the tone warned Bertie that his tormentors were going to have rather a warm time of it, as they themselves would phrase it, from this favorite uncle of theirs. He was sorry then, and looked up suddenly with appealing eyes. “Please don’t be angry with them. I don’t think they understand. You see, it never happened to them.” “What never happened to them?” “Why, the water coming in—the cold, dreadful water—rising higher and higher—and the people crying and shouting and rushing to the boats;” and Bertie pressed his hands into his eyes, as if to shut out some terrible picture. Uncle Fred remained long silent, hoping the child would go on, and perhaps utter words that might be a clue for his identification; but he said no more, and presently the young man asked,— “And did all that happen to you, Bertie?” “Ye—es—unless I dreamed it;” and Bertie slowly took his hands from his face and looked wonderingly up at Uncle Fred. “And when did it happen? Just before you came here?” But the child shook his head with a look of distress. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. But in the boat it seemed just like it.” Uncle Fred was much interested; but he judged it better to say no more on such an exciting topic. Bertie’s eyes glowed strangely, and his face, a little while ago so deadly pale was now flushed and hot, and the little frame still quivered with excitement, and perhaps with fear. It was evident that the child needed soothing, and he purposely turned the conversation into a channel that could not but be safe. “Bertie,” he said, gravely, yet very kindly, “when you are frightened and troubled about anything, do you remember to ask God to take care of you and to make you brave and strong?” Bertie looked up quickly and wistfully into the face above him. “I do sometimes; I pray to God every day; but when I get frightened, I think I forget.” “Do not forget again then, my child; for you will never pray to God in vain. He never forgets.” Bertie’s glance was more touchingly appealing than before. It made Uncle Fred ask,— “What is it, my child?” Bertie’s lip quivered.