Nancy was a waif, who had been sent out by the same thin little old lady who had sent Jack out. She was very pretty, and possessed of delightfully amiable domestic qualities. She grew up to be a very handsome girl, and was a very bright sunbeam in the homestead. But Jack did not fall in love with her. All unknown to himself his heart was pre-occupied. Neither did Nancy fall in love with Jack. All unwittingly she was reserving herself for another lot. Of course our hero corresponded diligently with the thin little old lady, and gladdened her heart by showing and expressing strong sympathy with the waifs of the great city; more than once, in his earlier letters, mentioning one named Bob Snobbins, about whose fate he felt some curiosity, but in regard to whose home, if such existed, he could give no information. Twice during those years Jack also wrote to the Grove family; but as he received no answer on either occasion, he concluded that the father must have been drowned, that old Nell was dead, and the family broken up. Need we add that the memory of his dear mother never faded or grew dim? But this was a sacred memory, in regard to which he opened his lips to no one. At last there came a day when John Matterby, being in the prime of life, with ample means and time to spare, set his heart on a holiday and a visit to the old country--the thin little old lady being yet alive. It was not so easy, however, for our hero to get away from home as one might imagine; for, besides being a farmer, he was manager of a branch bank, secretary to several philanthropic societies, superintendent of a Sunday-school, and, generally, a helper of, and sympathiser with, all who loved the Lord and sought to benefit their fellow-men. But, being a man of resolution, he cut the cords that attached him to these things, appointed Miss Briggs to superintend the Sunday-school in his absence, and set sail for England--not in a steamer, as most rich men would have done, but in a sailing ship, because the vessel happened to be bound for the port of Blackby, the home of his childhood. It was winter when he set sail, and the storms of winter were having high jinks and revels on the deep in the usual way at that season of the year. Jack's vessel weathered them all till it reached the shores of old England. Then the storm-fiend broke loose with unwonted fury, and, as if out of spite, cast the good ship on the rocks lying a little to the eastward of the port of Blackby. It was a tremendous storm! The oldest inhabitant of Blackby said, as well as his toothless gums would let him, that, "it wos the wust gale as had blow'd since he wos a leetle booy--an' that warn't yesterday--no, nor yet the day before!"