After ample justice being done to the meal by all parties, Captain Stimpson and Mr. Tarbox went off to the rope-walk. Grandsir, removing his chair to a window, where the afternoon breeze blew in refreshingly, and placing his Bible, his favorite companion, on his knees, was soon in a gentle slumber; his head thrown back on his comfortable chair, and his hands folded on the pages of the sacred volume before him, opened at his favorite last of Revelations. Mrs. Stimpson, taking up her knitting-work, sat herself down by the side of the table, to superintend the clearing away of the tea-things. She followed Judith with her fond eyes, as the little maiden tripped lightly about in her neat, speckled apron, putting every thing in its place in the most housewifely manner, and directing old Mary in an affectionate and cheerful tone of voice. She put away the tea-things in their accustomed places, in the little buffet with glass-doors, at the corner of the room, in which three mandarins of china were conspicuous, one on the middle projection of each shelf: then seating herself down at the window, she began to ply her needle in the embroidering of various figures in fine cat-gut to imitate lace; a kind of ladies’ work as much in vogue in those days as the worsted and crochet-work has been in our day. Captain Stimpson soon joined them with his pipe, but their conversation was interrupted by a gentle rap at the tea-room door, and on the captain’s opening it, George Fayerweather appeared, with a lame excuse for so soon repeating his visit. He was cordially received by the captain, who invited him to sit down, which he immediately did, in such a manner as to occupy the whole width of a window in the front parlor, to which the family now all adjourned; grandsir rousing and going with them, as he loved to doze by the sound of his children’s voices. The evening being fairly set in, a light was brought by old Mary; but being placed in a little cupboard, the door of which was nearly closed, the rest of the room was left in obscurity. The little party remained for some time almost in silence; the coolness of the hour, after the heat of the day, bringing to each a sense of tranquil enjoyment, which none felt disposed to interrupt by conversation. It is in such moments, that throwing off the cares of life, and forgetting its sorrows and disappointments, in the presence of those best loved, one feels possessed of a treasure of happiness—though the hoard maybe small—which wholly fills the mind and satisfies the wishes. “The heart” does not “distrustful ask if this be joy,” secure in the sober certainty. These are the moments, which, in their flight, mark their traces most deeply in the memory, over which we brood as a miser over his gold, and which, when past never to return, leave the heart most desolate.