A week passed, during which Hugh was for the most part at the cottage. New Year’s Day dawned. It was the last day he had to stay at home. They spent this holiday very much as they had spent Christmas Day—going to church at Huttontown in the forenoon and returning to the isle to dinner. After dinner Hugh took them to the mainland, where he hired a sleigh and gave them a long, fine run over the frozen snow. The next morning Hugh came early—unknown to Aunt Joe, however, who was outdoors giving directions to Pontius Pilate about his day’s work. She had returned to the kitchen and was busily engaged, as usual, at her loom, when she was very much astounded by a noise on the stairs as of a man’s heavy footsteps, and the stair-door was pushed open and Hugh appeared, porter-like, with a great trunk—Agnes’ trunk—upon his shoulders, a basket in his hand, and a bandbox under his arm, and followed by Agnes herself, dressed in traveling gear, with another basket and a bundle. Miss Joe stared in amazement, without being able to articulate. “Why, what in the name of all the saints in heaven does all this here mean?” “I am going to take Agnes to sea with me,” said Hugh. The old lady broke out into loud sobs for company. Hugh set his trunk, bandbox, and basket down upon the floor and set himself to the task of comforting and soothing both. Miss Joe was the first to recover. “Come here, Aggy, my darling child! You have been like a darter to me, honey. Kiss me again. Since you will go, Aggy, God bless you, my child! God bless you! I shall comfort myself very well by weaving cloth and flannel, and making counterpanes for you against you come back. Good-by!” And she embraced Agnes fondly and lifted and placed in her hands the basket and bundle. Hugh now came forward, and, for the second time, bade his aunt farewell; and, resuming his bundles, trunk, bandbox, basket, etc., set out for the beach. “If I’d only known, I’d a’ had a cup of coffee ready for you,” said the old lady; and she looked really pitiable as she stood there in her solitude, watching them as they went down to the beach and embarked on board the little boat and sped toward the distant ship. Having with the aid of a spyglass seen them embark on board the ship, Miss Joe turned into her lonely home and began preparing her solitary meal. CHAPTER X. THE PATIENCE OF ALICE. Thou must endure, yet loving all the while, Above, yet never separate from thy kind; Meet every frailty with the gentlest smile, Though to no possible depth of evil blind, This is the riddle thou hast life to solve; But in the task thou shalt not work alone, For while the worlds about the sun revolve, God’s heart and mind are ever with His own. _—J. Monckton Milnes._