“Will it not do, monsieur? There was nothing else. No money. The woman demanded so much for the room and all! Poor mamma was so long sick! Oh, monsieur, monsieur, but for that—if she had not been sick, she also would have come to America—to Julien! ‘Take it,’ she said—all so slow—she whispered it all so slow—‘Take it and go to Julien. It will pay the passage.’ And she whispered still a little more. I could not hear. But I thought she went to sleep. When the morning came, and I could see her face—so pale! so cold! so still—” “Here, my little Julie,” interrupted the captain, pressing his hand an instant over his eyes, “take thy cross. Keep it. Thou shalt have it to remember her by. And I—I am very well pleased to have a little passenger.” “Oh, mon oncle! how good you are!” and the child covered his great brown hand with kisses. The captain stooped to rub her soft cheek with his grizzled beard. He had no reason to be surprised; for wherever he went, the wide world over, did not all children call him “Uncle?” II. “When was it your brother went away, Julie?—how long ago? can you remember?” the captain asked one day as the little girl paced the deck at his side, her slender hand in his. “It is a very long time, monsieur mon oncle,” she answered; and after thinking, “it is a year.” “Now try to remember, if you can, something about the place where he lives. Did he never tell you about it?—did he write no letters?” “Oh, yes, mon oncle; often to our mother, and for me, one time, a little letter—all in an envelope by itself. Always I carry it with me. Behold it!” she said, drawing it from her pocket. “Ah! a letter!” cried the captain, greatly relieved, “that will help us.” It was dated six months before, and postmarked “Philadelphia.” Within, too, was given the name of the street, and even the number of the residence. “Ah!” gasped the captain, more relieved than ever. As soon as the vessel arrived in port, he addressed some lines to Julie’s brother. But as the days passed and he received no answer, he went himself to Philadelphia, and to the street and number given in the letter. No. 210 proved to be a boarding-house, where, indeed, the person inquired for had stopped a short time. He had, however, gone away long ago, whither, no one could tell. The captain then inserted in the newspapers a card asking information concerning his whereabouts. While waiting a reply, there came orders to sail with a cargo for the West Indies. (The captain’s was a trading vessel, carrying merchandise from one country to another.) What was to be done with little Julie? that was the question. The captain went finally to a lawyer, told him her story, charged him to make inquiries for her brother. Then they talked awhile together, and the lawyer did some writing.