Mrs. Hartland did not cry out or make a scene; only her lips twitched painfully, and she laid a hand on the table to steady herself. "Tell me the worst, Jim," she whispered bravely; and the boy drew the paper from his pocket with trembling fingers. "Read it," she said simply; and he tried hard, but his voice broke down before the end of the first sentence. Then she looked at it herself, but the letters seemed only black dots which danced about and intermingled as if trying to hide from her. "Give it to me, mother," said Susie. For the moment they had forgotten her, but the sound of her voice sent a fresh arrow of pain through the mother’s heart. But Susie was used to sorrow, and drew strength from her very weakness. Steadily she read through the paragraph from beginning to end, while her mother stood, white-faced and tearless, drinking in every word. "The second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship!" To the woman and children in that little room the words formed the whole paragraph. "Went down with the ship!" A simple phrase enough, and not uncommon, but perhaps it is as well that we do not always realize the misery and sorrow lying behind it. A deep hush fell as Susie finished reading. The sun had gone down, the evening shadows were gathering fast; soon it would be time to light the lamp, but no one moved. A loud rat-tat at the door startled them; and Jim, going out, found a messenger boy with a telegram. It was from the owners of the _Morning Star_, but contained no further information than had appeared in the evening paper. "It is very kind of them," said Mrs. Hartland "but I am glad you told me first, Jim." "We don’t know yet that father is drowned!" exclaimed Susie stoutly. "He might have been picked up by another ship. I have read of such things." Neither Jim nor his mother answered her; the idea was too wild to be considered seriously. The boy did not realize all that his father’s death meant to him, for he was young, and his experience of life had not been great. But his mother, while grieving bitterly for the dead man who had loved her so devotedly, had to think of the living. Through the long night hours, while the children forgot their sorrow in sleep, she lay thinking, thinking earnestly about their future. She had planned great things for Jim, had built splendid castles in the air for him; and now, at a blow, they came tumbling about her ears. "Poor boy!" she said softly to herself; "I fear it will change the whole of his life." *CHAPTER IV.* *FURTHER NEWS OF THE "MORNING STAR."* On the following Monday morning Dick called for his chum as usual, but Jim was in no hurry to start. "You go on," said he; "I’ll come presently."