Every human heart is susceptible of flattery, and Helen’s was not an exception. Still with her ideas of city men she could not at once think favorably of Mark Ray, just for a few complimentary words which might or might not have been in earnest, and she found herself looking forward with nervous dread to the time when he would stop at Linwood, and of course call on her, as he would bring a letter from Katy. Very sadly to the inmates of the farm-house rose the morning of the day when Katy was to sail, and as if they could really see the tall masts of the vessel which was to bear her away, the eyes of the whole family were turned often to the eastward with a wistful, anxious gaze, while on their lips and in their hearts were earnest prayers for the safety of that ship and the precious freight it bore. But hours, however sad, will wear themselves away, and so the day went on, succeeded by the night, until that too had passed and another day had come, the second of Katy’s ocean life. At the farm-house the work was all done up, and Helen in her neat gingham dress, with her bands of brown hair bound about her head, sat sewing, when she was startled by the sound of wheels, and looking up saw the boy employed to carry packages from the express office, driving to their door with a trunk, which he said had come that morning from Boston. In some surprise Helen hastened to unlock it with the key which she found appended to it. The trunk was full, and over the whole a linen towel was folded, while on the top of that lay a letter in Katy’s handwriting, directed to Helen, who, sitting down upon the floor, broke the seal and read aloud as follows: BOSTON, JUNE—, Revere House “Nearly midnight. “MY DEAR SISTER HELEN:—I have just come in from a little party given by one of Mrs. Harvey’s friends, and I am _so_ tired, for you know I am not accustomed to such late hours. The party was very pleasant indeed, and everybody was so kind to me, especially Mr. Ray, who stood by me all the time, and who somehow seemed to help me, so that I knew just what to do, and was not awkward at all. I hope not, at least for Wilford’s sake. “You do not know how grand and dignified he is here in Boston among his own set; he is so different from what he was in Silverton that I should be afraid of him if I did not know how much he loves me. He shows that in every action, and I am perfectly happy, except when I think that to-morrow night at this time I shall be on the sea, going away from you all. Here it does not seem far to Silverton, and I often look towards home, wondering what you are doing, and if you miss me any. I wish I could see you once before I go, just to tell you all how much I love you—more than I ever did before, I am sure.