"I see," she said; "my boy's barques sailing everywhere over the world. Sometimes they are wrecked, but _he_ is never drowned. I see the prows of these ships pointing everywhere, but never homeward. My boy is proud. Ah I at last here comes one, and my boy, my boy is in it!" She almost dashed down the cup as she spoke, and sprang to her feet. "Smith," she cried, "you cannot deceive me; there is something in my breast, born of a mother's love, that tells me Harvey has come." Mr Smith hummed and haa'ed, as the saying is, and muttered something about a letter. "No, no, no," she cried; "you only thought you ought to break the news gently to me, but I saw strange joy in your eye as soon as you entered. Now, dear Mr Smith, I appreciate all your kindness, but you see I can bear joy as well as grief. Tell me all about it." And the solicitor did so. At the conclusion she took out her handkerchief, and sobbed just a little. Then she abruptly rose and left the room. Mr Smith said never a word. He knew she had gone to pray. Next evening they were seated together--mother and son--mother and "prodigal son," as Harvey would persist in calling himself. Mr Smith respected their feelings. He went away to fish, and did not return till dinner-time. But that evening the trio had much to talk about, many business matters to discuss. "Alva shall return to its rightful owner," exclaimed Mr Smith. "I'm determined on that, if Steve were nineteen times an American millionaire. It was sold for half, nay, but fourth its value. It was sold to pay London debts of honour forsooth. Turf and otherwise. Bah! The money shall be raised to repay Mr Steve, and out he shall go, as sure as I belong to the great family of Smith. I'll employ London counsel that will astonish him. You'll see I'll do it. _Can_ and _shall_. And I won't let the grass grow under my feet either." Nor did the worthy solicitor. He started for London the very next day, leaving Harvey and his mother alone. Harvey felt, and almost looked, a boy again. He had so much to speak about, so much to tell of his hard adventurous life in search of fortune; and it is so pleasant to be listened to by one who loves you! No wonder Harvey McGregor felt happy. All the past blotted out and forgiven, all the future as hopeful as the past had been dark and oftentimes dismal. With many, if not most, of his adventures, the reader is already familiar, but of his voyage home from New York I have said nothing. Harvey then was possessed of some little money, and this he determined to convey home on his person. He might have had bills of exchange, but he was but little conversant with such aids to the transaction of business. Would he take it in gold and wear it in a waist-belt round his body? He was too old a sailor to do any such thing. For in event of being cast into the water he knew well that nothing sinks a man sooner than gold. It is the greed of gold, by the way, that sinks men on shore.