At the table, on which the tea things were laid, sat Katie, as pretty, neat, and tidy as ever, but a shade sadder looking, while by her side were our children, little specimens of healthy humanity, which it did a father's heart good to look upon. Controlling my emotion as much as I could, and assuming a very doleful tone and expression, I said, disguising my voice-- "Please, missus, have you got a ha'penny or crust for a poor shipwrecked mariner, who's been nigh a year or more among the savidges, and lost all his kit." "Yes, come in, my good man," responded Katie's gentle tones. "No shipwrecked sailor," she added sadly, "shall ever be turned from my threshold. Enter and partake of our simple meal." Pushing open the door, I went in trembling in every limb. As I appeared, my youngest, a stout pudgy little fellow of nearly three, suddenly slipped off his chair, and toddling towards me, his bread and butter extended, lisped,-- "Here, dood man, Dick not hungry; take this." I could control my feelings no longer, but throwing my arms out, I caught the boy to my heart, weeping and laughing at the same time, as I pressed kiss after kiss upon his chubby face. Katie, surprised at this behaviour, looked up, then, as if a veil had fallen from her eyes, divined the truth. With a cry of joy she rushed forward, exclaiming hysterically as she flung her arms about me. "Oh, Richard, my husband, my beloved! Is it possible! Do I really see you again?" I clasped her to me, and for a while we cried and laughed together, then I led her to a chair, for she was rather overcome by the sudden surprise, and hugged and kissed my little ones, who had almost forgotten their father. After another kissing match all round, I drew my chair up to the familiar chimney corner, and taking some tea, with Katie opposite me, and my children about my knees, began to recount my adventures to my wife, who, bless her heart, almost wept her pretty eyes out at poor Zenuta's sad story. Many years have elapsed since that happy evening, and I am now captain of my own ship, but my native place is as dear to me as ever. As my riches increased, I had our cottage turned into a large commodious house, sufficient for my increasing family. And it was here, in a small gabled room hanging right over the sea, that while gazing out at the wild expanse of waters during a terrific storm, the thought occurred to me to write my adventures. So sitting down, pen in hand, I immediately began this history of my life, thinking it likely that there might be many who would find amusement in reading the recital of "Richard Galbraith, Mariner, when wrecked on Caffraria." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The End. End of Project Gutenberg's Richard Galbraith, Mariner, by Emma Watts Phillips