An Island Queen no longer, Pauline Rigonda sits on the quarter-deck of
the emigrant ship gazing pensively over the side at the sunlit sea.
Dethroned by the irresistible influences of fire and water, our heroine
has retired into the seclusion of private life.
After escaping from the volcano, as described in the last chapter, the
settlers resolved to proceed, under the guidance of Malines as captain,
and Morris as mate, to the port for which they had originally been bound
when the disaster on Refuge Islands had arrested them.
Of course this was a great disappointment to poor Pauline and her
brothers, who, as may be imagined, were burning with anxiety to get back
to England. Feeling, however, that it would be unreasonable as well as
selfish to expect the emigrants to give up their long-delayed plans
merely to meet their wishes, they made up their minds to accept the
situation with a good grace.
"You see," said Otto to the ex-queen--for he was becoming very wise in
his own eyes, and somewhat oracular in the midst of all these
excitements--"when a fellow can't help himself he's bound to make the
best of a bad business."
"Don't you think it would be better to say he is bound to accept
trustingly what God arranges, believing that it will be all for the
best?" returned Pauline.
"How can a bad business be for the best?" demanded Otto, with the air of
one who has put an unanswerable question.
His sister looked at him with an expression of perplexity. "Well, it is
not easy to explain," she said, "yet I can believe that all _is_ for the
best."
"Ha, Pina!" returned the boy, with a little touch of pride, "it's all
very well for you to say that, but you won't get men to believe things
in that way."
"Otto," said Dr Marsh, who was standing near and listening to the
conversation, "it is not so difficult as you think to prove that what we
call a bad business may after all be for the best. I remember at this
moment a case in point. Come--I'll tell you a story. Once upon a time
I knew a gentleman with a stern face and a greedy soul, who believed in
nothing, almost, except in the wickedness of mankind, and in his own
capacity to take advantage of that wickedness in order to make money.
Money was his god. He spent all his time and all his strength in making
it, and he was successful. He had many ships on the sea, and much gold
in the bank. He had also a charming little wife, who prayed in secret
that God would deliver her husband from his false god, and he had a dear
little daughter who loved him to distraction in spite of his `business
habits!' Well, one year there came a commercial crisis. Mr Getall
eagerly risked his money and over-speculated. That same year was
disastrous in the way of storms and wrecks. Among the wrecks were
several of Mr Getall's finest ships. A fire reduced one of his
warehouses to ashes, and, worse still, one of his most confidential and
trusted clerks absconded with some thousands of pounds. All that was a
very bad business, wasn't it?"
"It was," assented Otto; "go on."
"The upshot was a crash--"
"What!--of the burning warehouse?"
"No; of the whole business, and the Getalls were reduced to comparative
beggary. The shock threw the poor little wife, who had always been
rather delicate, into bad health, rendering a warm climate necessary for
her at a time when they could not afford to travel. Moreover, little
Eva's education was entirely stopped at perhaps the most important
period of her life. That was a bad business, wasn't it?"
"That was a much worse business," asserted Otto.
"Well, when Mr Getall was at the lowest stage of despair, and had taken
more than one look over the parapet of London Bridge with a view to
suicide, he received a letter from a long-neglected brother, who had for
many years dwelt on the Continent, partly for economy and partly for a
son's health. The brother offered him a home in the south of France for
the winter, as it would do his wife good, he said, and he had room in
his house for them all, and wanted their company very much to keep him
from being dull in that land of warmth and sunshine! Getall was not the
man to refuse such an offer. He went. The brother was an earnest
Christian. His influence at that critical time of sore distress was the
means in the Holy Spirit's hands of rescuing the miser's soul, and
transferring his heart from gold to the Saviour. A joy which he had
never before dreamed of took possession of him, and he began, timidly at
first to commend Jesus to others. Joy, they say, is curative. The
effect of her husband's conversion did so much good to little Mrs
Getall's spirit that her body began steadily to mend, and in time she
was restored to better health than she had enjoyed in England. The
brother-in-law, who was a retired schoolmaster, undertook the education
of Eva, and, being a clever man as well as good, trained her probably
much better than she would have been trained had she remained at home.
At last they returned to England, and Mr Getall, with the assistance of
friends, started afresh in business. He never again became a rich man
in the worldly sense, but he became rich enough to pay off all his
creditors to the last farthing; rich enough to have something to spare
for a friend in distress; rich enough to lay past something for Eva's
dower, and rich enough to contribute liberally to the funds of those
whose business it is to `consider the poor.' All that, you see, being
the result of what you have admitted, my boy, was a bad business."
"True, but then," objected Otto, who was of an argumentative turn, "if
all that _hadn't_ resulted, it would have been a bad business still."
"Not necessarily--it might have turned out to be a good business in some
other way, or for somebody else. The mere fact that we can't see how,
is no argument against the theory that _everything_ is constrained to
work for good by Him who rules the universe."
"What! even sin?" asked Otto, in surprise.
"Even sin," returned the doctor. "Don't you see that it was Getall's
sin of greed and over-speculation, and the clerk's sin of embezzlement,
which led to all these good results; but, of course, as neither of them
had any desire or intention to achieve the good results which God
brought about, they were none the less guilty, and were entitled to no
credit, but, on the contrary, to condign punishment. What I wish to
prove is that God causes _all things_ to work out His will, yet leaves
the free-will of man untouched. This is a great mystery; at the same
time it is a great fact, and therefore I contend that we have every
reason to trust our loving Father, knowing that whatever happens to us
will be for the best--not, perhaps, for our present pleasure or
gratification, but for our ultimate best."
"But--but--but," said Otto, while premature wrinkles rippled for a
minute over his smooth brow, "at that rate, is it fair to blame sinners
when their very sins are made to bring about God's will?"
"Now, Otto, don't run away with a false idea. For you to sin with a
view to bring about good, is one thing--and a very wicked thing, which
is severely condemned in Scripture--but for God to cause good to result
from your sin, and in spite of _you_, is a totally different thing.
Think of a pirate, my boy, a bloody-handed villain, who has spent his
life of crime in gathering together enormous wealth, with which to
retire into selfish enjoyment at last. But he is captured. His wealth
is taken from him, and with it good men establish almshouses for the
aged poor, hospitals for the sick, free libraries and free baths
everywhere, and many other good and beneficent works. The pirate's
labours have, in God's providence, been turned into this channel. Is
the pirate less guilty, or less deserving of punishment on that
account?"
Further discussion on this point was interrupted by a sharp order from
Malines to reduce sail, and the consequent bustling about of the
sailors.
"Going to blow, think you?" asked Dominick, who came on deck at the
moment.
"Can't tell yet," replied the mate, "but the glass has fallen suddenly,
and one must be prepared, all the more that the ship has been more
severely strained on the reef than I had thought. Would Miss Pauline be
prepared," he added in a lower tone, "to receive the deputation this
afternoon?"
"Yes, she is quite prepared," returned Dominick, in the same low tone,
"though she is much perplexed, not being able to understand what can be
wanted of her. Is it so profound a secret that I may not know it?"
"You shall both know it in good time," the mate replied, as he turned to
give fresh directions to the man at the wheel.
That afternoon the assembly in the cabin could hardly be styled a
deputation, for it consisted of as many of the emigrants as could
squeeze in. It was led by Joe Binney, who stood to the front with a
document in his hand. Pauline, with some trepidation and much surprise
expressed on her pretty face, was seated on the captain's chair, with an
extra cushion placed thereon to give it a more throne-like dignity. She
was supported by Dominick on one side and Otto on the other.
Joe advanced a few paces, stooping his tall form, partly in reverence
and partly to avoid the deck-beams. Clearing his throat, and with a
slightly awkward air, he read from the document as follows:--
"Dear Miss Pauline, may it please yer majesty, for we all regards you
yet as our lawful queen, I've bin appinted, as prime minister of our
community--which ain't yet broke up--to express our wishes, likewise our
sentiments."
"That's so--go it, Joe," broke in a soft whisper from Teddy Malone.
"We wishes, first of all," continued the premier, "to say as how we're
very sorry that your majesty's kingdom has bin blowed up an' sunk to the
bottom o' the sea," ("Worse luck!" from Mrs Lynch),--"but we
congratulate you an' ourselves that we, the people, are all
alive,"--("an' kickin'," softly, from Malone--"Hush!" "silence!" from
several others),--"an' as loyal an' devoted as ever we was." ("More
so," and "Hear, hear!"). "Since the time you, Queen Pauline, took up
the reins of guvermint, it has bin plain to us all that you has done
your best to rule in the fear o' God, in justice, truthfulness, an'
lovin' kindness. An' we want to tell you, in partikler, that your
readin's out of the Bible to us an' the child'n--which was no part o'
your royal dooty, so to speak--has done us all a power o' good, an'
there was some of us big uns as needed a lot o' good to be done us, as
well as the child'n--" ("Sure an' that's true, annyhow!" from Teddy).
"Now, what we've got to say," continued Joe, clearing his throat again,
and taking a long breath, "is this--the land we're agoin' to ain't
thickly popilated, as we knows on, an' we would take it kindly if you'd
consent to stop there with us, an' continue to be our queen, so as we
may all stick together an' be rightly ruled on the lines o' lovin'
kindness,"--("With a taste o' the broomstick now an' then," from Teddy).
"If your majesty agrees to this, we promise you loyal submission an'
sarvice. Moreover, we will be glad that your brother, Mister Dominick,
should be prime minister, an' Mister Otto his scritairy, or wotever else
you please. Also that Dr Marsh should be the chansler o' the checkers,
or anything else you like, as well as sawbones-in-gineral to the
community. An' this our petition," concluded Joe, humbly laying the
document at Pauline's feet, "has bin signed by every man in the ship--
except Teddy Malone--"
"That's a lie!" shouted the amazed Teddy.
"Who," continued Joe, regardless of the interruption, "not bein' able to
write, has put his cross to it."
"Hear, hear!" cried the relieved Irishman, while the rest laughed
loudly--but not long, for it was observed that Pauline had put her
handkerchief to her eyes.
What the ex-queen said in reply, we need not put down in detail. Of
course, she expressed her gratitude for kind expressions, and her
thankfulness for what had been said about her Sabbath-school work. She
also explained that her dear mother in England, as well as their old
father in Java, must be filled with deepest anxiety on account of
herself and her brothers by that time, and that, therefore, she was
obliged, most unwillingly, to decline the honour proposed to her.
"Och!" exclaimed the disappointed widow Lynch, "cudn't ye sind for yer
mother to come out to yez, an' the ould man in Javy too? They'd be
heartily welcome, an' sure we'd find 'em some sitivation under guvermint
to kape their pot bilin'."
But these strong inducements failed to change the ex-queen's mind.
Now, while this was going on in the cabin, a change was taking place in
the sky. The bad weather which Malines had predicted came down both
suddenly and severely, and did the ship so much damage as to render
refitting absolutely necessary. There was no regular port within
hundreds of miles of them, but Malines said he knew of one of the
eastern isles where there was a safe harbour, good anchorage, and plenty
of timber. It would not take long to get there, though, considering the
damaged state of the ship, it might take some months before they could
get her into a fit state to continue the voyage. Accordingly, they
altered their course, with heavy hearts, for the emigrants were
disappointed at having their voyage again interrupted, while the
Rigondas were depressed at the thought of the prolonged anxiety of their
parents.
"Now this _is_ a bad business, isn't it?" said Otto to the doctor, with
a groan, when the course was decided.
"Looks like it, my boy; but it isn't," replied the doctor, who
nevertheless, being himself but a frail mortal, was so depressed that he
did not feel inclined to say more.
In this gloomy state of matters Pina's sweet tones broke upon them like
a voice from the better land--as in truth it was--saying, "I will trust
and not be afraid."
About this time the cloud which hung over the emigrant ship was darkened
still more by a visit from the Angel of Death. The mother of Brown-eyes
died. At that time Pauline was indeed an angel of mercy to mother and
child. After the remains of the mother were committed to the deep, the
poor orphan clung so piteously to Pauline that it was scarcely possible
to tear her away. It was agreed at last that, as the child had now no
natural protector, except an uncle and aunt, who seemed to think they
had already too many children of their own, Pauline should adopt her.
When the emigrants reached the island-harbour, without further mishap,
they were surprised to find a large steamer at anchor. The captain of
it soon explained that extensive damage to the machinery had compelled
him to run in there for shelter while the necessary repairs were being
effected.
"Where are you bound for?" asked Dominick, who with Dr Marsh and Otto
had accompanied Malines on board the steamer.
"For England."
"For England?" almost shouted Dominick and Otto in the same breath.
"Yes. Our repairs are completed, we set off to-morrow."
"Have you room for two or three passengers?"
"Yes, plenty of room. We shall have to put several ashore at the Cape,
where I hope to get a doctor, too, for our doctor died soon after we
left port, and we are much in want of one, having a good many sick men
on board."
"Otto," whispered Dr Marsh, "our having been diverted from our course
has not turned out such a bad business after all, has it?"
"On the contrary, the very best that could have happened. I'll never
give way to unbelief again!"
Poor Otto! He did not at that time know how deeply doubt and unbelief
are ingrained in the human heart. He did not know that man has to be
convinced again and again, and over again, before he learns to hope
against hope, and to believe heartily at all times that, "He doeth all
things well."
It was with very mingled feelings that the Rigondas, Dr Marsh, and
Brown-eyes parted next day from the friends with whom they had
associated so long. It is no exaggeration to say that there was
scarcely a dry eye in the two vessels; for, while the settlers wept for
sorrow, the crews and passengers wept more or less from sympathy. Even
the dead-eyes of the ship, according to Malone, shed tears! As for poor
Brown-eyes, who was a prime favourite with many of her old friends, male
and female, before she got away she had been almost crushed out of
existence by strong arms, and her eyes might have been pea-green or pink
for anything you could tell, so lost were they in the swollen lids.
Long after the vessels had separated the settlers continued to shout
words of good-will and blessing, "We'll never forgit ye, Miss Pauline,"
came rolling after them in the strong tones of Joe Binney. "God bless
you, Miss," came not less heartily from Hugh Morris. "We loves ye,
darlint," followed clear and shrill from the vigorous throat of the
widow Lynch, and a wild "Hooray!" from Teddy endorsed the sentiment.
Nobbs, the blacksmith, and little Buxley, ran up the rigging to make the
waving of their caps more conspicuous, and when faces could no longer be
distinguished and voices no longer be heard, the waving of kerchiefs
continued until the rounding of a cape suddenly shut them all out from
view for ever.
"Thank God," said Dr Marsh, with a voice deepened and tremulous from
emotion, "that though they have lost their queen, they shall never lose
the sweet influences she has left behind her."
The great ocean steamer had now cleared the land; her mighty engines
seemed to throb with joy at being permitted once more to, "Go ahead,
full speed," and soon she was cleaving her way grandly through the
broad-backed billows of the Southern sea--homeward bound!
Let us leap on in advance of her.
The little old lady with the gold spectacles and neat black cap, and
smooth, braided hair, is seated in her old arm-chair, with the old sock,
apparently--though it must have been the latest born of many hundreds of
socks--on the needles, and the unfailing cat at her elbow. The aspect
of the pair gives the impression that if a French Revolution or a Chili
earthquake were to visit England they would click-and-gaze on with
imperturbable serenity through it all.
But the little old lady is not alone now. Old Mr Rigonda sits at the
table opposite to her, with his forehead in his hands, as though he
sought to squeeze ideas into his head from a book which lies open before
him on the table. Vain hope, for the book is upside down. Profound
silence reigns, with the exception of the clicking needles and the
purring cat.
"My dear," at length exclaimed the bald old gentleman, looking up with a
weary sigh.
"Yes, John?" (Such is his romantic Christian name!)
"I can't stand it, Maggie." (Such is _her_ ditto!)
"It is, indeed, hard to bear, John. If we only knew for certain that
they are--are gone, it seems as if we could bow to His will; but this
terrible and wearing uncertainty is awful. Did you make inquiry at
Lloyd's to-day?"
"Lloyd's? You seem to think Lloyd's can tell everything about all that
happens on the sea. No, it's of no use inquiring anywhere, or doing
anything. We can only sit still and groan."
In pursuance of this remaining consolation, the poor old gentleman
groaned heavily and squeezed his forehead tighter, and gazed at the
reversed book more sternly, while the old lady heaved several deep
sighs. Even the cat introduced a feeble mew, as of sympathy, into the
midst of its purr--the hypocrite!
"It was the earthquake that did it," cried Mr Rigonda, starting up, and
pacing the room wildly, "I'm convinced of that."
"How can that be, John, dear, when you were in Java at the time, and our
darlings were far away upon the sea?"
"How can _I_ tell how it could be, Maggie? Do you take me for a
geological philosopher, who can give reasons for every earthly thing he
asserts? All I know is that these abominable earthquakes go half
through the world sometimes. Pity they don't go through the other half,
split the world in two, and get rid of the subterranean fires
altogether."
"John, my dear!"
"Well, Maggie, don't be hard on me for gettin' irascible now and then.
If you only knew what I suffer when--but forgive me. You _do_ know what
I suffer--there!"
He stooped and kissed the old lady's forehead. The cat, uncertain,
apparently, whether an assault was meant, arched its back and tall, and
glared slightly. Seeing however that nothing more was done, it
subsided.
Just then the wheels of a cab were heard rattling towards the front
door, as if in haste. The vehicle stopped suddenly. Then there was
impatient thundering at the knocker, and wild ringing of the bell.
"Fire!" gasped the half-petrified Mrs Rigonda.
"No smell!" said her half-paralysed spouse.
Loud voices in the passage; stumbling feet on the stairs; suppressed
female shrieks; bass masculine exclamations; room door burst open; old
couple, in alarm, on their feet; cat, in horror, on the top of the
bookcase!
"Mother! mother! O father!"--yelled, rather than spoken.
Another moment, and the bald, little old man was wrestling in the
ex-queen's arms; the little old lady was engulfed by Dominick and Otto;
Dr John Marsh and Brown-eyes stood transfixed and smiling with idiotic
joy at the door; while the cat--twice its size, with every hair erect--
glared, and evolved miniature volcanoes in its stomach.
It was an impressive sight. Much too much so to dwell on!
Passing it over, let us look in on that happy home when toned down to a
condition of reasonable felicity.
"It's a dream--all a wild, unbelievable dream!" sighed the old
gentleman, as, with flushed face and dishevelled hair, he spread himself
out in an easy chair, with Queen Pina on his knee and Brown-eyes at his
feet. "Hush! all of you--wait a bit."
There was dead silence, and some surprise for a few seconds, while Mr
Rigonda shut his eyes tight and remained perfectly still, during which
brief lull the volcanic action in the cat ceased, and its fur slowly
collapsed.
"Dreams shift and change so!" murmured the sceptical man, gradually
opening his eyes again--"What! you're there yet, Pina?"
"Of course I am, darling daddy."
"Here, pinch me on the arm, Dominick--the tender part, else I'll not
waken up sufficiently to dispel it."
A fresh outburst of hilarity, which started the stomachic volcanoes and
hair afresh, while Pauline flung her arms round her father's neck for
the fiftieth time, and smothered him. When he was released, and
partially recovered, Otto demanded to know if he really wanted the dream
dispelled.
"Certainly not, my boy, certainly not, if it's real; but it would be so
dreadfully dismal to awake and find you all gone, that I'd prefer to
dream it out, and turn to something else, if possible, before waking.
I--I--"
Here the old gentleman suddenly seized his handkerchief, with a view to
wipe his eyes, but, changing his mind, blew his nose instead.
Just then the door opened, and a small domestic entered with that
eminently sociable meal, tea. With a final explosion, worthy of Hecla
or Vesuvius, the cat shot through the doorway, as if from a catapult,
and found refuge in the darkest recesses of the familiar coal-hole.
"But who," said Mr Rigonda, casting his eyes suddenly downward, "who is
this charming little brown-eyed maid that you have brought with you from
the isles of the southern seas? A native--a little Fiji princess--eh?"
"Hush! father," whispered Pauline in his ear, "she's a dear little
orphan who has adopted me as her mother, and would not be persuaded to
leave me. So, you see, I've brought her home."
"Quite right, quite right," returned the old man, stooping to kiss the
little one. "I've often thought you'd be the better of a sister, Pina,
so, perhaps, a daughter will do as well."
"Now, then, tea is ready; draw in your chairs, darlings," said Mrs
Rigonda, with a quavering voice. The truth is that all the voices
quavered that night, more or less, and it was a matter of uncertainty
several times whether the quavering would culminate in laughter or in
tears.
"Why do you so often call Pina a queen, dear boy?" asked Mrs Rigonda of
her volatile son, Otto.
"Why?" replied the youth, whose excitement did not by any means injure
his appetite--to judge from the manner in which he disposed of muffins
and toast, sandwiched now and then with wedges of cake--"Why? because
she _is_ a queen--at least she _was_ not long ago."
An incredulous smile playing on the good lady's little mouth, Pauline
was obliged to corroborate Otto's statement.
"And what were you queen of?" asked her father, who was plainly under
the impression that his children were jesting.
"Of Refuge Islands, daddy," said Pina; "pass the toast, Otto, I think I
never _was_ so hungry. Coming home obviously improves one's appetite."
"You forget the open boat, Pina."
"Ah, true," returned Pauline, "I did for a moment forget that. Yes, we
were fearfully hungry _that_ time."
Of course this led to further inquiry, and to Dominick clearing his
throat at last, and saying--"Come, I'll give you a short outline of our
adventures since we left home. It must only be a mere sketch, of
course, because it would take days and weeks to give you all the
details."
"Don't be prosy, Dom," said Otto, helping himself to a fifth, if not a
tenth, muffin. "Prosiness is one of your weak points when left to your
own promptings."
"But before you begin, Dom," said old Mr Rigonda, "tell us where Refuge
Islands are."
"In the Southern Pacific, father."
"Yes," observed Otto; "at the bottom of the Southern Pacific."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the old gentleman, whose incredulity was fast taking
the form of sarcasm. "Not far, I suppose, from that celebrated island
which was the last home and refuge of our famous ancestor, the Spanish
pirate, who was distantly related, through a first cousin of his mother,
to Don Quixote."
"You doubt us, daddy, I see," said Pauline, laughing; "but I do assure
you we are telling you the simple truth. I appeal to Dr Marsh."
Dr Marsh, who had chiefly acted the part of observant listener up to
that moment, now assured Mr Rigonda with so much sincerity that what
had been told him was true, that he felt bound to believe him.
"Yes, indeed," said Dr Marsh, "your daughter was in truth a queen, and
I was one of her subjects. Indeed, I may say that, in one sense, she is
a queen still, but she has been dethroned by fire and water, as you
shall presently hear, though she still reigns in the affections of her
people, and can _never_ be dethroned again!"
This speech was greeted with some merriment, for the doctor said it with
much enthusiasm. Then Dominick began to give an account of their
adventures, interrupted and corrected, not infrequently, by his pert
brother Otto, who, being still afflicted with his South-Sea-island
appetite, remained unsatisfied until the last slice of toast, and the
last muffin, and the last wedge of cake had disappeared from the table.
Dominick's intentions were undoubtedly good; and when he asserted that
it was his purpose to give his father and mother merely an outline of
their adventures, he was unquestionably sincere; but the outline became
so extended, and assumed such a variety of complex convolutions, that
there seemed to be no end to the story--as there certainly seemed to be
no end to the patience of the listeners. So Dominick went, "on and on
and on," as story-books put it, until the fire in the grate began to
burn low; until Otto had consumed the contents of the teapot, and the
cream-jug, and the sugar-basin, and had even gathered up, economically,
the crumbs of the cake; until the still eager audience had begun to yawn
considerately with shut mouths; until the household cat, lost in
amazement at prolonged neglect, had ventured to creep from the
coal-hole, and take up a modest position on the floor, in the shadow of
its little old mistress.
There is no saying how long this state of things would have gone on, if
it had not been for the exuberant spirits of Otto, who, under an impulse
of maternal affection, sprang to his mother's side with intent to
embrace her, and unwittingly planted his foot on the cat's tail.
Then, indeed, the convoluted outline came to an abrupt end; for, with a
volcanic explosion, suggestive of thunder and lightning, inlaid with
dynamite, the hapless creature sprang from the room, followed by a
shriek from its mistress, and a roar of laughter from all the rest.
It is not certainly known where that cat spent the following fortnight.
The only thing about it that remains on record is the fact that, at the
end of that space of time, it returned to its old haunts, deeply
humbled, and much reduced; that it gradually became accustomed to the
new state of things, and even mounted the table, and sat blinking in its
old position, and grew visibly fatter, while the old lady revived old
times by stroking it, as she had been wont to, and communicating to it
some of her thoughts and fancies.
"Ay, pussy," she said, on one of these occasions when they chanced to be
alone together, "little did you and I think, when we used to be sitting
so comfortably here, that our darlings were being tossed about and
starved in open boats on the stormy sea! Ah! pussy, pussy, we little
knew--but `it's all well that ends well,' as a great writer that you
know nothing about has said, and you and I can never, never be thankful
enough for getting back, safe and sound, our dear old man, and our
darling boys, and our--our little Pauline, the Island Queen."