The ship was now moving into the placid bay and toward the shore. From a flag staff the Russian emblem already fluttered a welcome to the visiting craft. To be sure, the shore flag was accompanied by one made up of stars and stripes, and this last floated proudly at top of the mast above the other, but the two flags seemed not to be on unfriendly terms. At last the vessel swung alongside the dock. Eagerly did Eyllen and her aunt, standing among the group of natives, scan the faces of those on the vessel. None were familiar, and they were about to turn disappointed away when they heard a shout. Some one on deck motioned to the two women to come to the ship's side, and they hurriedly obeyed, scarcely knowing what they did. "Were you looking for someone?" kindly inquired an officer in Russian. "My father," replied the girl, disappointedly. "But he cannot be on board your ship or he would have been out to greet us." "Your father's name?" asked the officer. "Fedor Michaelovitz," responded Eyllen. "He is on board, but he is ill. We will fetch him ashore presently," but even as he spoke two men passed through the door to the gangplank. They carried a litter between them upon which lay stretched a man. Eyllen rushed toward the litter. It was really her father, but so changed that she would not have recognized him. According to the physician's orders Fedor Michaelovitz was placed in the small hospital established upon the islands for sailors, and there he was well tended. In a few days he was far enough recovered to relate to his daughter his story. After leaving her three years before and meeting many vicissitudes and disappointments, he had at last gained a fairly good position, when smallpox overtook him, and during a long illness he had lost it. Recovering and working his way up again elsewhere, he had lived frugally in order to save a competence upon which to live with his daughter in their own country to which he wished to take her. When his wishes seemed about to be realized the bank in which his money had been placed, failed, and he lost all his hard earned savings. Weakened by discouragement he again fell ill, and then he decided to sail for the Aleutians and see his daughter at all hazards. Penniless, ill, and discouraged, he was a man who, in middle life, had still nothing to show for years of work and hardships. One redeeming feature of all this dark outlook, there was with him a friend who was apparently moved by the misfortunes of Michaelovitz, and that was a young Russian sailor with whom he had become acquainted some years before, and who followed him wherever he went, even at the risk of causing a corresponding failure in his own affairs by so doing.