"Well said; give us your hand, mate," cried John Golding, one of the latter, holding out his hand, which our hero grasped warmly, for he had known the man in former years. "You've done well in credit o' the sea." "An' better still," said little Reuben, "in doing credit to the land by refusin' to boast." Nevertheless, though Jeff Benson did not boast, it is but just to say that he _felt_ considerable satisfaction in his triumph, and rejoiced in the possession of so powerful a frame, as he continued his walk to Miss Millet's house. It did not occur to him, however, to thank God for his strength of body, because at that time "God was not in all his thoughts." Miss Millet was a woman of action and projects. Her whole being was absorbed in one idea--that of doing good; but her means were small, very small, for, besides being exceedingly poor, she was in delicate health and getting old. She subsisted on quite a microscopic annuity; but, instead of trying to increase it, she devoted the whole of her time to labours of love and charity. The labour that suited her health and circumstances best was knitting socks for the poor, because that demanded little thought and set her mind free to form unlimited projects. The delight which Miss Millet, experienced in meeting with her old friend Jeffrey Benson was displayed in the vivacity of her reception of him and the tremulosity of her little cap. "It's just like coming home, auntie--may I still venture to call you so?" Jeff had been wont to sit on a stool at the good lady's feet. He did so now--on the old stool. "You may call me what you please, Jeff. It was your child-fancy to accord to me that honourable relationship; so you may continue it if you will. How you are grown, too! I could not have known you had I met you--so big, and with that horrible black beard." "Horrible! Miss Millet?" "Well, terrible, if you prefer it. It's so bushy and unnatural for one so young." "That can hardly be, auntie," rejoined the youth, with a smile that sent quite a ripple down the objectionable beard, "because my beard was provided by Nature." "Well, Jeff," returned the spinster promptly, "were not scissors and razors provided by--no, it was art that provided _them_," she continued with a little smile of confusion; "but they _are_ provided all the same, and--But we won't pursue that subject, for you men are incorrigible! Now tell me, Jeff, where you have been, and why you didn't come to see me sooner, and why your letters have been so few--though I admit they were long." We will not inflict on the reader all the conversation that ensued. When Jeff had exhausted his narrative, Miss Millet discovered that it was tea-time; and, while engaged in preparations for the evening meal, she enlarged upon some of her projects, being encouraged thereto by Jeff, whose heart was naturally sympathetic.