child in mind," and so go cheerfully about his work again.

There were not many more steps to take. Spring came, and the little
meadow was green again. Robins and bluebirds fluttered above the great
pine-tree, and swallows built their nests under the eaves of the tower
itself. The child Star sang with the birds, and danced with the
dancing leaves, all unconscious of what was coming; but the old
Captain's steps grew slower and heavier, day by day, and the cheery
voice grew feeble, and lost its hearty ring, though never its
cheeriness. "I'll set here in the porch, Jewel Bright," he would say,
when the child begged him to come for a scramble on the rocks. "I
think I'll jest set here, where I can see ye an' hear to ye. I'm
gittin' lazy, Star Light; that's the truth. Yer old Daddy's gittin'
lazy, and it's comf'tabler settin' here in the sun, than scramblin'
round the rocks."

And Star would fling herself on his neck, and scold and caress him,
and then go off with a half-sense of disappointment to her play. Very,
very careful Captain January had to be, lest the child should suspect
that which he was determined to keep from her to the last. Sometimes
he half thought she must suspect, so tender was she in these days;
so thoughtful, so mindful of his lightest wish. But "'tis only the
woman growin' up in her," he decided; and looking back, he remembered
that she had not once broken his pipe (as she had been used to do
every three or four weeks, in her sudden rages) since last September.

At last there came a day when the Captain did not even go out to the
porch. It was a lovely May morning, bright and soft, with wreaths
of silvery fog floating up from the blue water, and much sweet sound
of singing birds and lapping waves in the air. Making some pretence