Mr. Channing lay as usual on his sofa, Hamish near him. Gay Hamish, who was looking as light-faced as ever; undoubtedly, he seemed as light-hearted. Hamish had a book before him, a map, and a pencil. He was tracing out the route for his father and mother, joking always. After much anxious consideration, Mr. Channing had determined to proceed at once to Germany. It is true that he could not well afford to do so; and, before he heard from Dr. Lamb the very insignificant cost it would prove, he had always put it from him, as wholly impracticable at present. But the information given him by the doctor altered his views, and he began to think it not only practicable, but feasible. His children were giving much help now to meet home expenses--Constance, in going to Lady Augusta’s; Arthur, to the Cathedral. Dr. Lamb strongly urged his going, and Mr. Channing himself knew that, if he could only come home restored to health and to activity, the journey instead of being an expense, would, in point of fact, prove an economy. With much deliberation, with much prayer to be helped to a right decision, Mr. Channing at length decided to go. It was necessary to start at once, for the season was already advanced; indeed, as Dr. Lamb observed, he ought to have been away a month ago. Then all became bustle and preparation. Two or three days were wasted in the unhappy business concerning Arthur. But all the grieving over that, all the staying at home for it, could do no good; Mr. Channing was fain to see this, and the preparations were hastened. Hamish was most active in all--in urging the departure, in helping to pack, in carving out their route: but always joking. “Now, mind, mother, as you are to be commander in chief, it is the _Antwerp_ packet you are to take,” he was saying, in a serio-comic, dictatorial manner. “Don’t get seduced on to any indiscriminate steamer, or you may find yourselves carried off to some unknown regions inhabited by cannibals, and never be heard of again. The Antwerp steamer; and it starts from St. Katherine’s Docks--if you have the pleasure of knowing that enchanting part of London. I made acquaintance with it in a fog, in that sight-seeing visit I paid to town; and its beauty, I must confess, did not impress me. From St. Katherine’s Docks you will reach Antwerp in about eighteen hours--always provided the ship does not go to pieces.” “Hamish!” “Well, I won’t anticipate: I dare say it is well caulked. At any rate, take an insurance ticket against accident, and then you’ll be all right. An Irishman slept at the top of a very high hotel. ‘Are you not afraid to sleep up there, in case of fire?’ a friend asked him. ‘By the powers, no!’ said he; ‘they tell me the house is insured.’ Now, mother mine--” “Shall we have to stay in Antwerp, Hamish?” interrupted Mr. Channing.