And here, dear readers, we leave Peggy Saville at a milestone of her life. In what direction the cross roads led the little company of friends, and what windings of the path brought them once more together, remains still to be told. It was a strange journey, and in their travelling they met many friends with whom all young people are acquainted. The giant barred the way, and had to be overcome before the palace could be reached; the Good Spirit intervened at the right moment to prevent calamity, the prince and princess stepped forward and made life beautiful; for life is the most wonderful fairy tale that was ever written, and full of magic to those who have eyes to see it. Farewell then to Peggy Pickle, but if it be the wish of those readers who have followed her varying fortunes so far, we may meet again with Mariquita Saville, in the glory of sweet and twenty, and learn from her the secret of the years. [Illustration: _END._] THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH. BY ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object in Life,” etc. CHAPTER II. THE FIRST OF THE “SLAINS CASTLE.” “I am all curiosity to hear your secret, Charlie,” pleaded his wife. “Well, as I tell you, it is your secret which has given any meaning to mine,” he said. “It is as if I picked up an odd-shaped bit of wood, which seemed a mere chip, but presently you came in with a puzzle, all fitted, save for one vacant place, and lo, my chip exactly fills it!” He had taken up the bulky pocket-book which lay on the sofa beside him. He searched through its contents, selected one letter, and handed it to Lucy. “Read it,” he said, “and tell me what you think.” Lucy instinctively looked first at the envelope. The post-mark was “Peterhead”; the handwriting was strong and manly. “Why, it is from your old acquaintance Captain Grant!” she said. Charlie nodded. “Read what he says,” he repeated. It was not a long letter. The Captain, who was an old schoolfellow of Charlie’s, had heard of his illness and wrote to inquire how he was. “It is my belief, my boy,” he said, “that all the medicine you want is a good draught of salt air taken straight off the top of the ocean waves. You can’t get it quite right on the best of shores. What a pity you can’t come with me in my fine ship the _Slains Castle_. We are going straight to New Zealand, and then perhaps we shall trade a little among some of the smaller islands; but the _Slains Castle_ is a fast goer, and unless the winds are very dead against us, we shall be home well within a year. That’s the sort of thing that would really do you good, and not a petty little voyage on a passenger steamer, where you smell more of the engines and the cook-room than of the briny. Can’t you make up your mind and come with me? Health before income, old man! If you were by yourself, I’d press the idea; but, as there is the little wife, I suppose I mustn’t. For there is no room to offer to her on the ship.”