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T nine o'clock Thursday evening Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax had bade farewell
to their friends at Moorlow. At nine o'clock Friday morning the train
whirled by on its way to Sandy Hook, and then they waved good-bye from
the car windows, as they had promised, to Regie and Harry and Nan, who,
seated on a pile of railroad ties, had been watching and waiting for the
train a long half hour. At nine o'clock Saturday morning Mr. and Mrs.
Fairfax went on board the _Alaska_, which some one has called “the
greyhound of the sea,” and a half hour later the good ship steamed out
into the Bay.
“Well, I suppose you've seen the last of 'em,” said Captain Murray,
joining the little party just as the train had disappeared, and looking
closely at Regie to see how he was taking it.
“The last for a while, I suppose, sir,” said Regie, in a firm little
voice, but nevertheless gazing very wistfully down the track in the
direction of the vanishing train. “I would have given a good deal,” he
added, “to have seen the big ship they are going on.”
“You would? Well, why not?” said the captain. “Yes, why not?” looking
from one puzzled face to the other in an amused sort of fashion.
“Oh!” said Harry, “do you mean that you'll take us to the Highland
Light?”
“Of course I do. Where else, to be sure? We can drive over with Dobbin
early to-morrow morning. I'll take the glass along, and we'll have a
good look at the _Alaska_, every one of us. What time does she leave the
dock, Reginald?” for the honest captain believed in calling people and
things by their right names.
“Half-past nine, sir,” said Regie, promptly, for he was well posted on
all the details of the projected journey.
“Then she'll round the Hook about eleven.”.
“Is the lighthouse very high?” asked Regie, his face aglow with
excitement.
“High enough to see a long way out to sea,” answered the captain.
[Illustration: 0048]
“I was not thinking of that,” said Regie, rather ruefully. “I was
thinking I could not climb up so very many stairs with these crutches.”
“But you can go up mighty easy without them. See! just like this,” and
Captain Murray caught Regie in his arms as easily as Regie himself would
have lifted a kitten. “Bring the crutches, Nan,” he added, “there's no
use in staying here any longer.”
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“I believe Papa and Mamma Fairfax would like to know we were looking
at them,” said Regie, with his arms clasped firmly round the captain's
neck. “They could not see us, but they could know we were there.”
“To be sure,” said the captain, making use of those three monosyllables
on every possible occasion; “and we'll stop at the railroad station on
our way home now, and telegraph them to be on the lookout for us.”
“You're a magnificent captain!” said Regie, never hesitating to express
honest admiration.
“I'm glad you think so,” replied the captain, tightening his hold of the
warm-hearted little fellow, “but unfortunately your saying so does not
make it true.”
“But, papa, it is true,” said Nan, loyally, catching hold of her
father's coat, and trudging along by his side. “All the men say so at
the Life-saving Station, and I guess they ought to know.”
“None of them have ever been to sea with me, Nan.”
“They know about you all the same,” said Harry, with a significant
shake of his head; for he was very proud of his tall father, and of his
handsome weather-beaten face.
They had reached the little Gothic railroad station, and Captain Murray
sat Regie down on the operator's table while he wrote this telegram on
one of the yellow paper blanks:--
“Mr. Curtis Fairfax,
“No. --, Wall St., New York.
“The children will wave you good-bye from the Highland Light at eleven
o'clock to-morrow, rain or shine.
“Epher Murray.”