"Dear me, what happy days I used to spend at Betsey’s! Sometimes Isaac, the jolly, bluff pilot, would take us out in his boat; and then what rosy cheeks and good appetites we got! Sometimes we played in Val’s shop, and watched him make pretty things or helped him in some easy job, for he liked to have us near him. And, oh, my heart, what delicious suppers Betsey used to get us in the front room, where all sorts of queer sea treasures were collected,--shells, coral, and seaweed; odd pictures of ships and fish, and old books full of sailor songs and thrilling tales of wrecks." "I wish I had been there!" interrupted Alice. "Is the house all gone, aunty?" "All gone, dear, and every one of that merry party but myself," answered Aunt Pen, with a sigh. "Don’t think about the sad part of it, but go on and tell about the bed, please," said Alice, feeling that it was about time this interesting piece of furniture appeared in the story. "Well, that was made to comfort me when Gus went home, as he did after staying two years. Yes, he went home with straight feet, the heartiest, happiest little lad I ever saw. "I was heart-broken at losing my playmate, and mourned for him as bitterly as a child could, till Val comforted me, not only by the cunning bedstead for my doll, but by a hundred kindly words and acts, for which I never thanked him half enough. "Aunt Dolly and my father were so grateful and pleased at Val’s success with Gus that they helped him in a plan he had some years later, when he took a larger house in a better place, and with Betsey as nurse, opened a small hospital for the cure of deformed feet. It was an excellent plan; and all was going well, when poor Val wasted rapidly away, and died just as his work began to bring him money and some honor." "That was very bad! But what became of Bobby and Gus?" asked Alice, who was not of an age to care much about the "sad part" of any story. "Bob became a sea-captain, and was an excellent fellow till he went down with his ship in a storm after rescuing all his crew, even to the cabin-boy. I’m proud of Bob, and keep those two great pearly shells in memory of him, for he brought them to me after his first voyage." Aunt Pen’s eyes lit up, and her voice rose as she spoke with real pride and affection of honest Captain Brown, who to her was always little Bob. "I like that, it was so brave and good; but I do wish he had been saved, for then I could have seen him. And maybe he would have brought me a big green parrot that could say funny things. What became of Gus?" asked Alice, after a moment spent in the delightful thought of owning a green parrot with a red tail. "Ah, my dear, I wish I knew!" exclaimed Aunt Pen, so earnestly that Alice dropped her work, astonished at the change in that usually quiet face. "Don’t tell any more if you ’d rather not," said the little girl, feeling instinctively that she had touched some tender string.