Mr. Sturritt, too, remains “with the Admiral, as usual.” He has prepared lozenges in new and improved combinations, and especially adapted to the exertions of a miner’s life. Even Zar is not going to desert us. Our former voyage, with Mr. Sturritt in charge of the commissary, was not without its attractions for her, and she now declares that “if we jus’ give up huntin’ foh poles, an’ stick to lookin’ up our los’ relation, she has no rejections to he’pin’ us all she can. Besides,” she says, “my Miss Edith ain’ gwine off down dere widout her ole mammy to sing ‘Brown Cows’ when that po’ li’l’ gal cain’t sleep.” My Uncle Nicholas, who has spent much of the summer with relatives, will naturally be in charge of the expedition, though Captain Biffer will continue in command of the Billowcrest, with Officers Larkins and Emory as heretofore. “Thim’s the bake-apple,” said the former, when I first showed him a handful of the nuggets. “The little yellow berries that grow one on a shtalk—I felt in me bones that they grew there. I’ll be helpin’ ye hunt fer thim.” And so it is, that of those who sailed with us before, only Ferratoni is missing. He has become to us as a sweet memory, but far to the south, where lies my long-ago fancy, he has found that of which he also, dreamed. The long, polar night now lingers there, but I recall that enchanted land only as bathed in the light of an eternal afternoon, wherein, after our weary struggle, we found for a time the anodyne of forgetfulness and rest. Perhaps ere this he has learned a way to lighten the burden of their long dark, and however this may be, we are happy in knowing that he, too, walks in the light of love, and that his gentle soul is chorded at last with the perfect ideal. But I am writing—writing. Already both Chauncey Gale and my Uncle Nicholas have looked in to say that Captain Biffer is ready to cast off, while Edith, who sits by to read as I finish these last lines, whispers that the messenger boy is eagerly afraid we are going to carry him away with us. There came to me last night, once more, the old childhood dream of blue water and white sails. And the tide still calls, and the wind is fair, and I am going back to the sea. THE END. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES 1. Silently corrected typographical errors. 2. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed. 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. End of Project Gutenberg's The great White way, by Albert Bigelow Paine