"I don't know. I didn't think perhaps you'd care to come. You see, he has only a poor little dark room, and you are a little prince." Pat's loving admiration was betrayed in every word he spoke, and in the glance of his smiling eyes. He thought Rupert looked prettier than ever with his golden curls blowing about in the breeze, and his little face, with the peach bloom tanned by the kisses of the sunbeams which had been caressing it these past days. His own stylish little sailor suit had been neatly mended, too, and had not suffered so very much by the long immersion in salt water. The child had an air of refinement and sovereignty about him of which Pat's sensitive Irish nature was keenly conscious. He felt he could lay down his life for this princely child; and understood very well now how it was that real kings and princes in history had got hundreds and thousands of followers to go with them to victory or death. Sometimes before, his mother's stories had puzzled him. He did not quite understand how men had been so easily led to fight against fearful odds. But it was no puzzle to him now. The spirit of hero-worship had entered into his being, and had made many things plain that had perplexed him before. "If I am a prince, princes must be good," said the golden-haired child, suddenly straightening himself out, and looking at Pat with a new expression in his eyes. It was as if some sudden memory were coming back to him--a memory of something or somebody almost forgotten hitherto. Pat held his breath to watch and listen. "I know that's right. She said so. I remember quite well. She said, 'If you are a prince, you must be a good one,' and she kissed me, and took me in her arms. The sea was all shining over there, just like it shines now. Was it here she said it, Pat?" Pat shook his head. He was almost as curious as his mother would have been to know who the "she" was whose words the child has just quoted. But the flash of memory did not seem to go farther, and after a moment's pause, Rupert went back to his former theme, speaking with his baby lisp, yet in words quite intelligible to Pat. "Take me to see poor Jim. I'd like to see him. I'd like to tell him he's a good man, and that I'm very much obliged to him for pulling me out of the sea. I suppose I should have been drowned if he hadn't got me out in time; shouldn't I, Pat?" "Yes, indeed you would; I thought you'd be drowned as it was. It seemed such a long time before they could get you both out. Now I'll take you to see poor Jim. I'm sure he'll be pleased, though perhaps he won't seem to be. Jim is rather a funny man; but he's very nice when you know him. You won't be frightened if he looks rather cross at you?" "Nobody looks cross at me, except nurse, when she's in a bad temper," answered the child serenely. "And only babies and girls are frightened at things. I wasn't frightened when the gull pecked me--you said so yourself."