piping and calling to him. And the world had grown dumb; and he
yearned always: until they had to get him a new canary waistcoat, for
the old one had grown too big.

At night, from his dormitory window, he could see a rosy light in the
sky. At first he thought this must be a pillar of fire put there to
guide him home; but it was only the glare of furnaces in a
manufacturing town, not far away. When he found this out his heart
came near to break; and afterwards he pined still faster.


One evening a lecture was given in the dining-room of the Orphanage.
The subject was "The Holy Land," and the lecturer illustrated it with
views from the magic-lantern.

Kit, who sat in one of the back rows, was moderately excited at
first. But the views of barren hills, and sands, and ruins, and
palm-trees, and cedars, wearied him after a while. He had closed his
eyes, and the lecturer's voice became a sing-song in which his heart
searched, as it always searched, for the music of the beach; when, by
way of variety--for it had little to do with the subject--the
lecturer slipped in a slide that was supposed to depict an incident
on the homeward voyage--a squall in the Mediterranean.

It was a stirring picture, with an inky sky, and the squall bursting
from it, and driving a small ship heeling over white crested waves.
Of course the boys drew their breath.

And then something like a strangling sob broke out on the stillness,
frightening the lecturer; and a shrill cry--