The End of a Coil by Susan Warner

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CHAPTER I.

DOLLY'S ARRIVAL.

The door stands open of a handsome house in Walnut Street--the Walnut
Street which belongs to the city of William Penn; and on the threshold
stands a lady, with her hand up to her brows, shielding her eyes from
the light. She is watching to see what will come out of a carriage just
driving up to the curbstone. The carriage stops; there descends first
the figure of a handsome, very comfortable-looking gentleman. Mrs.
Eberstein's eyes pass over him very cursorily; she has seen him before;
and there is hardly a curl on his handsome head which his wife does not
know by heart. What comes next? Ah, that is she!--the figure of the
expected one; and a little girl of some eleven years is helped
carefully out by Mr. Eberstein, and comes up the steps to the waiting
and watching lady. A delicate little thing, delicate in frame and
feature alike, with a fair, childish face, framed in by loose light
brown curls, and a pair of those clear, grave, wise, light hazel eyes
which have the power of looking so young and so spiritually old at
once. Those eyes are the first thing that Mrs. Eberstein sees, and they
fascinate her already. Meanwhile kind arms are opened wide, and take
the little one in.

"Come at last, darling! And do you remember your Aunt Hal? and are you
half as glad to see her as she is to see you?" So Mrs. Eberstein gives
her greeting, while she is drawing the child through the hall and into
the parlour; gives it between kisses.

"Why, no," said her husband, who had followed. "Be reasonable, Harry.
She cannot be so glad to see you as we are to see her. She has just
come from a long stage-coach journey; and she is tired, and she is
hungry; and she has left a world she knows, and has come to a world she
doesn't know; hey, Dolly? isn't it true? Tell your Aunt Hal to stop
asking questions, and give you something to eat."

"I have come to a world I don't know," repeated the little girl by way
of answer, turning her serious small face to her questioner, while Mrs.
Eberstein was busily taking off coat and hat and mufflers.

"Yes, that's what I say!" returned Mr. Eberstein. "How do you like the
look of it, hey?"

"I wonder who is asking questions now!" said Mrs. Eberstein. "There,
darling! now you are at home."

She finished with another kiss; but, nevertheless, I think the feeling
that it was a strange world she had come to, was rather prominent in
Dolly. She suddenly stooped to a great Maltese cat that was lying on
the hearthrug, and I am afraid the eyes were glad of an excuse to get
out of sight. She touched the cat's fur tenderly and somewhat
diligently.

"She won't hurt you," said her aunt. "That is Mr. Eberstein's pet. Her
name is Queen Mab."

"She don't look much like a fairy," was Dolly's comment. Indeed, Queen
Mab would outweigh most of her race, and was a magnificent specimen of
good feeding.

"You do," thought Mrs. Eberstein. Aloud she asked: "What do you know
about fairies?"

"Oh, I know they are only stories. I have read about them."

"Fairy tales, eh?"

"No, not much fairy tales," said Dolly, now rising up from the cat. "I
have read about them in 'Midsummer Night's Dream.'"

"'Midsummer Night's Dream,' you <DW40>!" exclaimed Mrs. Eberstein.
"Have you read that? And everything else you could lay hands on?"

She took the child in her arms again as she spoke. Dolly gave a quiet
assent.

"And they let you do just what you like at home? and read just what you
like?"

Dolly smiled slightly at the obviousness of the course of action
referred to; but the next minute the smile was quenched in a mist of
tears, and she hid her head on Mrs. Eberstein's shoulder. Kisses and
caresses of course followed, not successfully. At last Mr. Eberstein's
repeated suggestion that food, in the circumstances, would be very much
in place, was acted upon. Supper was served in the next room, which did
duty for a dining-room; and the little family gathered round a
bountifully spread table. There were only those three; and, naturally,
the attention of the two elder was very much concentrated upon the
third new member of the party; although Mr. Eberstein was hungry and
proved it. The more Mrs. Eberstein studied her new acquisition,
however, the more incitement to study she found. .

Dolly was not like most children; one could see that immediately. Faces
as pretty, and more pretty, could easily be found; the charm was not in
mere flesh and blood, form or colour. Other children's faces are often
innocent too, and free from the shadow of life's burdens, as this was.
Nevertheless, it is not often, it is very rarely, that one sees the
mingling of childish simplicity with that thoughtful, wise, spiritual
look into life, which met one in Dolly's serious hazel orbs; not often
that sweetness and character speak so early in the lines of the lips;
utterly childish in their soft, free mobility, and yet revealing
continually a trait of thoughtfulness or of strength, along with the
happy play of an unqualified tender disposition. "You are lovely! you
are lovely!" was Mrs. Eberstein's inner cry; and she had to guard
herself that the thought did not come to too open expression. There was
a delicate air of refinement also about the child, quite in keeping
with all the rest of her; a neat and noiseless handling of knife and
fork, cup and saucer; and while Dolly was evidently hungry as well as
her uncle, she took what was given to her in a thoroughly high-bred
way; that is, she made neither too much nor too little of it.

Doubtless all the while she was using her power of observation, as Mrs.
Eberstein was using hers, though the fact was not obtruded; for Dolly
had heart wants quite as urgent as body wants. What she saw was
reassuring. With Mr. Eberstein she had already been several hours in
company, having travelled with him from New York. She was convinced of
his genial kindness and steadfast honesty; all the lines of his
handsome face, and every movement of his somewhat ease-loving person,
were in harmony with that impression. Mrs. Eberstein was a fit mate for
her husband. If Dolly had watched her a little anxiously at first, on
account of her livelier manner, she soon made out to her satisfaction
that nothing but kindness, large and bounteous, lodged behind her
aunt's face, and gave its character to her aunt's manner. She knew
those lively eyes were studying her; she knew just as well that nothing
but good would come of the study.

The meal over, Mrs. Eberstein took her niece upstairs to make her
acquainted with her new quarters. It was a little room off the hall
which had been destined for Dolly, opening out of her aunt's own; and
it had been fitted up with careful affection. A small bedstead and
dressing-table of walnut wood, a little chest of drawers, a little
wardrobe; it was a wonder how so much could have been got in, but there
was room for all. And then there were red curtains and carpet, and on
the white spread a dainty little eider-down silk quilt; and on the
dressing-table and chest of drawers pretty toilet napkins and
pincushion. It was a cosy little apartment as ever eleven years old
need delight in. Dolly forthwith hung up her hat and coat in the
wardrobe; took brush and comb out of her travelling bag, and with
somewhat elaborate care made her hair smooth; as smooth, that is, as a
loose confusion of curly locks allowed; then signified that she was
ready to go downstairs again. If Mrs. Eberstein had expected some
remark upon her work, she was disappointed.

In the drawing-room, she drew the child to sit down upon her knee.

"Well, Dolly, what do you think you are going to do in Philadelphia?"

"Go to school--they say."

"Who says so?"

"Father says so, and mother."

"What do you think they want you to go to school for?"

"I suppose that I may become like other people."

Mr. Eberstein burst out into a laugh. His wife's eyes went over to him
adjuringly.

"Are you not like other people now, Dolly?"

The child's sweet, thoughtful brown eyes were lifted to hers frankly,
as she answered, "I don't know, ma'am."

"Then why do you say that? or why do they say it?"

"I don't know," said Dolly again. "I think they think so."

"I daresay they do," said Mrs. Eberstein; "but if you were mine, I
would rather have you unlike other people."

"Why, Aunt Harry?"

"Yes," said Mr. Eberstein; "now you'll have to go on and tell." And
Dolly's eyes indeed looked expectant.

"I think I like you best just as you are."

Dolly's face curled all up into a smile at this; brow and eyes and
cheeks and lips all spoke her sense of amusement; and stooping forward
a little at the same time, she laid a loving kiss upon her aunt's
mouth, who was unspeakably delighted with this expression of
confidence. But then she repeated gravely--

"I think they want me changed."

"And pray, what are you going to do, with that purpose in view?"

"I don't know. I am going to study, and learn things; a great many
things."

"I don't believe you are particularly ignorant for eleven years old."

"Oh, I do not know anything!"

"Can you write a nice hand?"

Dolly's face wrinkled up again with a sense of the comical. She gave an
unhesitating affirmative answer.

"And you have read Shakespeare. What else, Dolly?"

"Plutarch."

"'Plutarch's Lives'?" said Mrs. Eberstein, while her husband again
laughed out aloud. "Hush, Edward. Is it 'Plutarch's Lives,' my dear,
that you mean? Caesar, and Alexander, and Pompey?"

Dolly nodded. "And all the rest of them. I like them very much."

"But what is your favourite book?"

"That!" said Dolly.

"I have got a whole little bookcase upstairs full of the books I used
to read when I was a little girl. We will look into it to-morrow, and
see what we can find. 'Plutarch's Lives' is not there."

"Oh, I do not want that," said Dolly, her eyes brightening. "I have
read it so much, I know it all."

"Come here," said Mr. Eberstein; "your aunt has had you long enough;
come here, Dolly, and talk to me. Tell me which of those old fellows
you think was the best fellow?"

"Of 'Plutarch's Lives'?" said Dolly, accepting a position upon Mr.
Eberstein's knee now.

"Yes; the men that 'Plutarch's Lives' tell about. Whom do you like
best?"

Dolly pondered, and then averred that she liked one for one thing and
another for another. There ensued a lively discussion between her and
Mr. Eberstein, in the course of which Dolly certainly brought to view
some power of discrimination and an unbiassed original judgment; at the
same time her manner retained the delicate quiet which characterised
all that belonged to her. She held her own over against Mr. Eberstein,
but she held it with an exquisite poise of ladylike good breeding; and
Mr. Eberstein was charmed with her. The talk lasted until it was broken
up by Mrs. Eberstein, who declared Dolly must go to rest.

She went up herself with the child, and attended to her little
arrangements; helped her undress; and when Dolly was fairly in bed,
stood still looking at the bright little head on the pillow, thinking
that the brown eyes were very wide open for the circumstances.

"Are you very tired, darling?" she asked.

"I don't know," said Dolly. "I guess not very."

"Sleepy?"

"No, I am not sleepy yet. I am wide awake."

"Do you ever lie awake, after you have gone to bed?"

"Not often. Sometimes."

"What makes you do it?"

"I don't know. I get thinking sometimes."

"About what can such a <DW40> as you get thinking?"

Dolly's face wrinkled up a little in amusement at this question. "I see
a great many things to think about," she answered.

"It's too soon for you to begin that," said Mrs. Eberstein, shaking her
head. Then she dropped down on her knees by the bedside, so as to bring
her face nearer the child's.

"Dolly, have you said your prayers?" she asked softly.

The brown eyes seemed to lift their lids a little wider at that. "What
do you mean, Aunt Harry?" she replied.

"Do you never pray to the Lord Jesus before you go to sleep?"

"I don't do it ever. I don't know anything about it."

The thrill that went over Mrs. Eberstein at this happily the little one
did not know. She went on very quietly in manner.

"Don't you know what prayer is?"

"It is what people do in church, isn't it?"

"What is it that people do in church?"

"I do not know," said Dolly. "I never thought about it."

"It is what you do whenever you ask your father or mother for anything.
Only that is prayer to your father or mother. This I mean is prayer to
God."

"We don't call it prayer, asking them anything," said Dolly.

"No, we do not call it so. But it is really the same thing. We call it
prayer, when we speak to God."

"Why should I speak to God, Aunt Harry? I don't know how."

"Why He is our Father in heaven, Dolly. Wouldn't it be a strange thing
if children never spoke to their father?"

"But they can't, if they don't know him," said Dolly.

Here followed a strange thing, which no doubt had mighty after-effects.
Mrs. Eberstein, who was already pretty well excited over the
conversation, at these words broke down, burst into tears, and hid her
face in the bedclothes. Dolly looked on in wondering awe, and an
instant apprehension that the question here was about something real.
Presently she put out her hand and touched caressingly Mrs. Eberstein's
hair, moved both by pity and curiosity to put an end to the tears and
have the talk begin again. Mrs. Eberstein lifted her face, seized the
little hand and kissed it.

"You see, darling," she said, "I want you to be God's own child."

"How can I?"

"If you will trust Jesus and obey Him. All who belong to Him are God's
dear children; and He loves them, and the Lord Jesus loves them, and He
takes care of them and teaches them, and makes them fit to be with Him
and serve Him in glory by and by."

"But I don't know about Jesus," said Dolly again.

"Haven't you got a Bible?"

"No."

"Never read it?"

"No."

"Never went to Sunday School?"

"No, ma'am."

"Little Dolly, I am very glad you came to Philadelphia."

"Why, Aunt Harry?"

"Because I love you so much!" exclaimed Mrs. Eberstein, kissing the
child's sweet mouth. "Why, Dolly, Jesus is the best, best friend we
have got; nobody loves us so much in the whole world; He gave his life
for us. And, then, He is the King of glory. He is everything that is
loving, and true, and great, and good; 'the chiefest among ten
thousand.'"

"What did He give His life for?" said Dolly, whose eyes were growing
more and more intent.

"To save our lives, dear."

"From what?"

"Why, Dolly, you and I, and everybody, have broken God's beautiful law.
The punishment for that is death; not merely the death of the body, but
everlasting separation from God and His love and His favour; that is
death; living death. To save us from that, Jesus died Himself; He paid
our debt; He died instead of us."

"Then is He dead?" said Dolly awefully.

"He was dead; but He rose again, and now He lives, King over all. He
was God as well as man, so the grave could not hold Him. But He paid
our debt, darling."

"You said, death was everlasting separation from God and good," said
Dolly very solemnly.

"For us, it would have been."

"But He did not die that way?"

"He could not, for He is the glorious Son of God. He only tasted death
for us; that we might not drink the bitter cup to eternity."

"Aunt Harry," said Dolly, "is all that true?"

"Certainly."

"When did He do that?"

"It is almost nineteen hundred years ago. And since then, if any one
trusts His word and is willing to be His servant, Jesus loves him, and
keeps him, and saves him, and makes him blessed for ever."

"But why did He do that? what made Him?"

"His great love for us."

"Us?" Dolly repeated.

"Yes. You and me, and everybody. He just came to save that which was
lost."

"I don't see how He can love me," said Dolly slowly. "Why, I am a
stranger to Him, Aunt Harry."

"Ah, you are no stranger! Oh yes, Dolly, He loves you dearly; and He
knows all about you."

Dolly considered the matter a little, and also considered her aunt,
whose lips were quivering and whose eyes were dropping tears. With a
very serious face Dolly considered the matter: and came to a conclusion
with promptitude unusual in this one subject of all the world. She half
rose up in her bed.

"Then I love Him," she said. "I will love Him, too, Aunt Harry."

"Will you, my darling?"

"But I do not know how to be His servant."

"Jesus will teach you Himself, if you ask Him."

"How will He teach me?"

"He will make you understand His word, and let you know what pleases
Him. He says, 'If ye love me, keep My commandments.'"

"His commandments are in the Bible, aren't they?"

"Certainly. You say you have not got a Bible?"

"No."

"Then we will see about that to-morrow, the first thing we do. You
shall have a Bible, and that will tell you about His commandments."

"Aunt Harry, I would like Him to know to-night that I love Him."

"Then tell Him so, dear."

"Can I?"

"To be sure you can. Why not?"

"I do not know how."

"Tell Him, Dolly, just as if the Lord Jesus were here present and you
could see Him. He is here, only you do not see Him; that is all the
difference Tell Him, Dolly, just as you would tell me; only remember
that you are speaking to the King. He would like to hear you say that."

"I ought to kneel down when I speak to Him, oughtn't I? People do in
church."

"It is proper, when we can, to take a position of respect when we speak
to the King; don't you think so?"

Dolly shuffled herself up upon her knees in the bed, not regarding much
that Mrs. Eberstein threw a shawl round her shoulders; and waited a
minute or two, looking intensely serious and considering. Then laying
her hands involuntarily together, but with her eyes open, she spoke.

"O Lord Jesus,--Aunt Harry says you are here though I cannot see you.
If you are here, you can see, and you know that I love you; and I will
be your servant. I never knew about you before, or I would have done it
before. Now I do. Please to teach me, for I do not know anything, that
I may do everything that pleases you. I will not do anything that don't
please you. Amen."

Dolly waited a moment, then turned and put her arms round her aunt's
neck and kissed her. "Thank you!"--she said earnestly; and then lay
down and arranged herself to sleep.

Mrs. Eberstein went downstairs and astonished her husband by a burst of
hysterical weeping. He made anxious enquiries; and at last received an
account of the last half-hour.

"But, oh, Edward, what do you think?" she concluded. "Did you ever hear
anything like that in your life? Do you think it can be genuine?"

"Genuine what?" demanded her husband.

"Why, I mean, can it be true religious conversion? This child knows
next to nothing; just that Jesus died out of love to her, to save
her,--nothing more."

"And she has given her love back. Very logical and reasonable; and
ought not to be so uncommon."

"But it is uncommon, Edward. At least, people generally make a longer
business of it."

"In which they do not show their wisdom."

"No; but they do it. Edward, can it be that this child is so suddenly a
Christian? Will it stand?"

"Only time can show that. But Harry, all the cases,--almost all the
cases reported in the New Testament are cases of sudden yielding. Just
look at it. John and Andrew took but a couple of hours or so to make up
their minds. Nathanael did not apparently take more than two minutes
after he saw Christ. Lydia became a Christian at her first hearing the
good news; the eunuch made up his mind as quick. Why should not little
Dolly? The trouble is caused only by people's obstinate resistance."

"Then you think it may be true work?"

"Of course I think so. This child is not an ordinary child, there is
that to be said."

"No," said Mrs. Eberstein thoughtfully. "Is she not peculiar? She is
such a child; and yet there is such a wise, deep look in her brown
eyes. What pretty eyes they are! There is the oddest mixture of old and
young in her I ever saw. She is going to be lovely, Edward!"

"I think she is lovely now."

"Oh yes! but I mean, when she grows up. She will be very lovely, with
those spiritual eyes and that loose curly brown hair; if only she can
be kept as she is now."

"My dear, she cannot be that!"

"Oh, you know what I mean, Edward. If she can be kept unspoiled;
untainted; unsophisticated; with that sort of mixture of wisdom and
simplicity which she has now. I wish we need not send her to school."

"We have no choice about that. And the Lord can keep His own. Let us
ask Him."

They knelt and did so; with some warm tears on Mrs. Eberstein's part,
and great and warm earnestness in them both.

CHAPTER II.

CHRISTINA AND HER MOTHER.

Mrs. Eberstein watched during the next few days, to see, if she could,
whether the sudden resolve taking on Dolly's part that first evening
"meant anything," as she expressed it, or not. She remained in doubt.
Dolly was thoughtful certainly, and sweet certainly; "but that don't
tell," Mrs. Eberstein remarked; "it is her characteristic." It was
equally certain that she had attached herself with a trustful, clinging
affection to the new friends whose house and hearts had received her.
Dolly's confidence was given to them fully and heartily from that very
first day; and they saw that it was.

Nearly a week passed before the school-term began. Meanwhile Dolly was
taken about, in walks and drives, to see all that her friends thought
would interest her. Everything interested her, they found; and upon
every subject presented to her, her little head went to work; the
result of which was the putting of a question now and then, which
afforded her guardians, perhaps, as much entertainment as the ground of
the question had given Dolly. These questions, however, were called
forth most of all by the subject which had seized hold of Dolly's mind
with such force that first evening. Mrs. Eberstein had not forgotten
her promise about the Bible. One of the first expeditions undertaken
the next day had been in search of one; successful, in the judgment of
both Dolly and her aunt; and since then the book was very often to be
seen in Dolly's hands.

"What are you reading there, Dolly?" Mr. Eberstein asked, corning in
one evening just before dinner. Dolly was on a low seat at the corner
of the fireplace, reading by the shine of a fire of Liverpool coal,
which threw warm lights all over the little figure. She looked up and
said it was her Bible she was studying.

"You will put out your eyes."

"Oh no, Uncle Edward; the print is so good, and the fire makes such a
nice blaze, I can see perfectly."

"And pray, what are you looking for, or what are you finding, in that
book, little one?"

"I am looking for a great deal,--and I am finding a little," was
Dolly's reply.

"Different with me," said Mr. Eberstein with a short laugh. "I
generally find more in the Bible than I look for."

"What do you look for in it?" said Dolly, raising her head which had
gone down to the reading.

Mr. Eberstein laughed again.

"Truly, Dolly," he said, "you have hit me there! I believe I often open
the Bible without looking for anything in particular."

"Perhaps that makes the difference," said Dolly, letting her eyes fall
again to her page.

"Perhaps it does; but, Dolly, I should very much like to know what you
are looking for?"

"I am looking to find out the will of God, Uncle Edward."

"Come here, my pet," said Mr. Eberstein, coaxing the little girl into
his arms and setting her on his knee. "What do you want to find out the
will of God for? what about?"

"About me."

"What do you want to know the will of God about you for?"

"I want to do it, Uncle Edward."

"There couldn't be a better reason. Jesus says, 'He that hath My
commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth Me.' Do you find
what you seek?"

"I find some," said Dolly.

"Where were you reading just now?"

"About Abraham."

"Abraham! What do you find in Abraham's life, may I ask, that tells you
the will of God about Dolly Copley? You are not called upon to leave
your country and go out into a strange land."

"No; not that. But God said to Abraham, 'Walk before Me, and be thou
perfect.' And it puzzles me."

"What puzzles you?"

"I don't see how I can 'walk before Him.'"

"Dolly,--the Lord is here, here where we are, wherever we are."

"Yes. I know that."

"Then, if you know that and remember it, and do everything you do in
His presence, and feeling that it is in His presence, you will be
walking before Him; don't you see? Just as if Jesus were here again
upon earth, and you were always with Him; only you do not see Him now.
He sees you."

"And 'be perfect'?" said Dolly questioningly.

"Yes. That means, I think, don't try to serve two masters. If you love
God with all your heart, and give Him your whole life and service,--not
a part of it,--that is what the word to Abraham means, I think. A
servant of God is a perfect servant, if he does all the will of God
that he knows, and as fast as he knows it. But you cannot do that of
yourself, little Dolly."

"Why cannot I, if I want to?"

"Why, because there come temptations, and there come difficulties; and
you will want to do something you like, and not what God likes; and you
will do it too, unless the Lord Jesus keeps fast hold of you and saves
you from making such a mistake. Only He can."

"Can He?"

"Certainly He can."

"Will He?"

"If you want Him to do it, and trust Him to do it, He will. He will
just do all that you trust Him to do."

Dolly pondered. "Will He do that because He loves me?" she asked.

"Just for that reason, Dolly."

"Then He will do it," said Dolly confidently; "for I will trust Him.
Won't you show me where he says that, Uncle Edward?"

Mr. Eberstein told Dolly to find Matt. xxi. 21. Dolly read eagerly--

"Jesus answered and said unto them, Verily I say unto you, If ye have
faith, and doubt not, ye shall not only do this which is done to the
fig-tree, but also if ye shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed,
and be thou cast into the sea, it shall be done. And all things
whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive."

Dolly read to herself, then looked up, eager and confident, for the
next reference.

"Turn to John xv. 7."

Again Dolly found and read, in silence--

"If ye abide in Me, and My words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye
will, and it shall be done unto you."

"What next, Uncle Edward?"

"Isn't that promise enough?"

"Yes; but I thought you had more."

"There is a great deal more. Look out Thessalonians v. 23, 24."

Dolly read, slowly, aloud now--

"'And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your
whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming
of our Lord Jesus Christ. Faithful is He that calleth you, who also
will do it.' That is beautiful, Uncle Edward!"

"Do you want another? Find Jude, and read the 24th and 25th verses."

With some trouble Dolly found it.

"'Now unto Him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present
you faultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy, to
the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and
power, both now and ever. Amen.'"

Dolly slipped off Mr. Eberstein's knee and retook her old place by the
fire; where she sat turning from one passage to another of those she
had been reading. Mr. Eberstein watched her, how the ribbon markers of
the Bible were carefully laid in two of the places, and a couple of
neat slips of paper prepared for the others.

"What have you been doing to-day, Dolly?" he asked at length.

"We went to see the water works."

"Oh, you did! And what did you think of the water works?"

"We went up to the top and walked about. Do the people in Philadelphia
want so much water as all that?"

"They want a great deal more. The Fairmount works give only enough for
part of the city."

"That is taking a great deal of trouble to get water."

"It would be worse trouble to do without it."

"But why don't people all live in the country, as we do at home? then
they would have water for nothing."

"Humph! That would answer, Dolly, if people were contented with water;
they all want wine. I mean, my child, that most people are not
satisfied with simple doings; and for anything more they must have
money; and they can make money faster in cities. Therefore they build
cities."

"Is _that_ what they build cities for?" said Dolly.

"Largely. Not altogether. A great many things can be better done where
people are congregated together; it is for the convenience of trade and
business, in many kinds and in many ways. What have you been doing
since you came home from the water works?"

"O Uncle Edward!" said Dolly, suddenly rising now and coming to him,
"Aunt Harry has opened for me her old bookcase!"

"What old bookcase? I didn't know she had an old bookcase."

"Oh yes; the one where she keeps the books she had when she was as old
as I am."

"And as young, eh? Well, what is in that bookcase? is it a great find?"

"O Uncle Edward, there is a great deal in it! It is wonderful. Books I
never saw, and they look so interesting!"

"What, for instance? Something to rival Plutarch's Lives?"

"I don't know," said Dolly; "you know I have not read them yet. There
is 'Sandford and Merton;' I was reading in that, and I like it very
much; and the 'Looking Glass' is another; and 'Rosamond' I am sure is
interesting. Oh there is a whole load of them."

"Well I am glad of it," said Mr. Eberstein. "That is the right sort of
stuff for your busy little brain; will not weigh too heavy. Now I
suppose you will be reading all the time you are in the house."

"Aunt Harry has begun to teach me to knit."

"Very good," said Mr. Eberstein. "I believe in knitting too. That's
safe."

They went to dinner, and after dinner there was a further knitting
lesson, in which Dolly seemed absorbed; nevertheless, before the
evening was over she brought up a very different subject again.

"Aunt Harry," she began, in the midst of an arduous effort to get the
loops of wool on her needles in the right relative condition,--"does
mother know about the Bible?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Eberstein, with a glance at her husband, "she knows
about it, something."

"Then why did she never tell me anything about it?"

Mrs. Eberstein hesitated.

"I suppose, Dolly, her thoughts were fuller of other things."

"But how _could_ they be?" said the little one, laying her hands with
their knitting work in her lap, and looking up.

Her aunt did not answer.

"How could her thoughts be fuller of other things, if she knows the
Bible?" Dolly urged.

"I don't think she really knows much of what is in the Bible," Mrs.
Eberstein said. "She has never read it much."

"I don't think she knows about Jesus," Dolly went on gravely; "for she
never told me; and she would if she had known, I think. Aunt Harriet, I
think _I_ ought to tell _her_ now."

"What would you tell her, my darling?"

"Oh, I will tell her that I know Him and love Him; and I will tell her
I have got a Bible, and some of the things I have found in it. I will
ask her to get one too, and read it. I don't believe she knows."

"The reason why a great many people do not know, Dolly, is, as your
Aunt Harry says, that they are so much taken up with other things."

"Then I think one ought to take care not to be too much taken up with
other things," said Dolly very seriously.

"But you have got to be taken up with other things," Mr. Eberstein went
on. "Here you are going to school in a few days; then your head will be
full of English and French, and your hands full of piano keys and harp
strings, from morning till night. How are you going to do?"

Dolly looked at the speaker, came and placed herself on his knee again,
and laid a hand on his shoulder; eyeing him steadily.

"Ought I not to go to school?"

"Must!--else you cannot be the right sort of a woman, and do the right
sort of work."

"How then, Uncle Edward? what shall I do?"

"I'll tell you one thing, Dolly. Don't study and practise to get ahead
of somebody else; but to please the King!"

"The King--that is Jesus?"

"Certainly."

Dolly nodded, in full agreement with the rule of action as thus stated;
presently brought forward another idea.

"Will He care? Would it please Him to have me play on the piano, or
learn French and arithmetic?"

"Dolly, the more you know, and the better you know it, the better
servant you can be; you will have the more to use for Jesus."

"Can I use such things for Him? How?"

"Many ways. He will show you how. Do you think an ignorant woman could
do as much in the world as an elegant, well-informed, accomplished
woman?"

Dolly thought over this question, nodded as one who had come to an
understanding of it, and went back to her knitting.

"What ever will become of that child," said Mrs. Eberstein an hour or
two later, when she and her husband were alone. "I am full of anxiety
about her."

"Then you are taking upon you the part of Providence."

"No, but, Edward, Dolly will have a history."

"So have we all," Mr. Eberstein responded very unresponsively.

"But she will not have a common history. Do you see how open she is to
receive impressions, and how fast they stay once they are made?"

"I see the first quality. I never saw a creature quicker to take
impressions or to welcome affections. Whether they will prove as
lasting as they are sudden,--that we have no means of knowing at
present."

"I think they will."

"That's a woman's conclusion, founded on her wishes."

"It is a man's conclusion too; for you think the same thing, Edward."

"Don't prove anything, Harry."

"Yes, it does. When two people come to the same independent view of
something, it is fair to suppose there are grounds for it."

"I hope so. Time will show."

"But, Edward, with this extremely sensitive and affectionate nature,
how important it is that Dolly should have only the right surroundings,
and see only the right sort of people."

"Just so. And so she is going out into the world of a large school;
where she will meet all sorts of people and be subjected to all sorts
of influences; and you cannot shield her."

"I wish I could keep her at home, and have her taught here! I wish I
could!"

"Playing Providence again. We all like to do it."

"No, but, Edward, just look at her," said Mrs. Eberstein with her eyes
full of tears.

"I do," said Mr. Eberstein. "I've got eyes. But you will have to trust
her, Harry."

"Now she will go, I have no doubt, and write that letter to her mother.
I wonder if Sally will get scared, and take her away from us?"

"Why, Hal," said her husband, "your self-will is getting up very strong
to-night! What if? Dolly's future does not depend upon us; though we
will do what we can for it."

What they did then, was to pray about it again; for these people
believed in prayer.

The next day Mrs. Eberstein had invited an acquaintance to come to
dinner. This acquaintance had a daughter, also about to enter Mrs.
Delancy's school; and Mrs. Eberstein's object was to let the two girls
become a little known to each other, so that Dolly in the new world she
was about to enter might not feel everything utterly strange. Mrs.
Thayer belonged to a good New York family; and it likewise suited her
purposes to have her daughter received in so unexceptionable a house as
Mrs. Eberstein's, albeit the young lady was not without other
Philadelphia friends. So the party fitted together very harmoniously.
Mrs. Thayer, in spite of her good connections, was no more than a
commonplace personage. Christina, her daughter, on the other hand,
showed tokens of becoming a great beauty. A little older than Dolly, of
larger build and more flesh and blood development generally, and with
one of those peach-blossom complexions which for fairness and delicacy
almost rival the flower. Her hair was pretty, her features also pretty,
her expression placid. Mrs. Eberstein was much struck.

"They are just about of an age," remarked Mrs. Thayer. "I suppose they
will study the same things. Everybody studies the same things. Well, I
hope you'll be friends and not rivals, my dears."

"Dolly will not be rivals with anybody," returned Dolly's aunt.

"She don't look very strong. I should think it would not do for her to
study too hard," said the other lady. "Oh, rivalry is necessary, you
know, to bring out the spirit of boys and girls and make them work. It
may be friendly rivalry; but if they were not rivals they would not be
anything; might as well not be school girls, or school boys. They would
not do any work but what they liked, and we know what that would amount
to. I don't know about beating learning into boys; some people say that
is the way; but with girls you can't take that way; and all you have to
fall back upon is emulation."

"Very few young people will study for the love of it," Mrs. Eberstein
so far assented.

"They might, I believe, if the right way was taken," Mr. Eberstein
remarked.

"Emulation will do it, if a girl has any spirit," said Mrs. Thayer.

"What sort of spirit?"

"What sort of spirit! Why, the spirit not to let themselves be outdone;
to stand as high as anybody, and higher; be No. 1, and carry off the
first honours. A spirited girl don't like to be No. 2. Christina will
never be No. 2."

"Is it quite certain that such a spirit is the one to be cultivated?"

"It makes them study,"--said Mrs. Thayer, looking at her questioner to
see what he meant.

"What do you think the Bible means, when it tells us not to seek for
honour?"

"_Not_ to seek for honour?" repeated the lady.

"Not the honour that comes from man."

"I didn't know it forbade it. I never heard that it was forbidden. Why,
Mr. Eberstein, it is _natural_ to wish for honour. Everybody wishes for
it."

"So they do," Mr. Eberstein assented. "I might say, so _we_ do."

"It is natural," repeated the lady.

"Its being natural does not prove it to be right."

"Why, Mr. Eberstein, if it is _natural_, we cannot help it."

"How then does trying to be No. 1 agree with the love that 'seeketh not
her own'?"

Dolly was listening earnestly, Mr. Eberstein saw. Mrs. Thayer
hesitated, in some inward disgust.

"Do you take that literally?" she said then. "How can you take it
literally? You cannot."

"But Christ pleased not Himself."

"Well, but He was not like us."

"We are bidden to be like him, though."

"Oh, as far as we can. But you cannot press those words literally, Mr.
Eberstein."

"As far as we can? I _must_ press them, for the Bible does. I ask no
more, and the Lord demands no more, than that we be like our Master _as
far as we can_. And He 'pleased not himself,' and 'received not honour
from men.'"

"If you were to preach such doctrine in schools, I am afraid you would
have very bad recitations."

"Well!" said Mr. Eberstein. "Better bad recitations than bad hearts.
Though really there is no necessary connection between my premises and
your conclusion. The Bible reckons 'emulations,' Mrs. Thayer, in the
list of the worst things human nature knows, and does."

"Then you would have a set of dunces. I should just like to be told,
Mr. Eberstein, how on that principle you would get young people to
study. In the case of girls you cannot do it by beating; nor in the
case of boys, after they have got beyond being little boys. Then
emulation comes in, and they work like beavers to get the start of one
another. And so we have honours, and prizes, and distinctions. Take all
that away, and how would you do, Mr. Eberstein?"

Mr. Eberstein was looking fondly into a pair of young eyes that were
fixedly gazing at him. So looking, he spoke,

"There is another sort of '_Well done!_' which I would like my Dolly
and Miss Christina to try for. If they are in earnest in trying for
that, they will study!" said Mr. Eberstein.

Mrs. Thayer thought, apparently, that it was no use talking on the
subject with a visionary man; and she turned to something else. The
party left the dinner-table, and Dolly took her new acquaintance
upstairs to show her the treasure contained in Mrs. Eberstein's old
bookcase.

"Mr. Eberstein is rather a strange man, isn't he?" said Miss Christina
on the way.

"No," said Dolly. "I don't think he is. What makes you say so?"

"I never heard any one talk like that before."

"Perhaps," said Dolly, stopping short on the landing place and looking
at her companion. Then she seemed to change her manner of attack. "Who
do you want to please most?" she said.

"With my studies? Why, mamma, of course."

"I would rather please the Lord Jesus," said Dolly.

"But I was talking about _school work_," retorted the other. "You don't
suppose _He_ cares about our lessons?"

"I guess He does," said Dolly. They were still standing on the landing
place, looking into each other's eyes.

"But that's impossible. Think!--French lessons, and English lessons,
and music and dancing, and all of it. That couldn't be, you know."

"Do you love Jesus?" said Dolly.

"Love him? I do not know," said Christina colouring. "I am a member of
the church, if that is what you mean."

Dolly began slowly to go up the remaining stairs. "I think we ought to
study to please Him," she said.

"I don't see how it should please him," said the other a little out of
humour. "I don't see how He should care about such little things."

"Why not?" said Dolly. "If your mother cares, and my mother cares.
Jesus loves us better than they do, and I guess He cares more than they
do."

Christina was silenced now, as her mother had been, and followed Dolly
thinking there were a _pair_ of uncomfortably strange people in the
house. The next minute Dolly was not strange at all, but as much a
child as any of her fellows. She had unlocked the precious bookcase,
and with the zeal of a connoisseur and the glee of a discoverer she was
enlarging upon the treasures therein stowed away.

"Here is 'Henry Milner,'" she said, taking down three little red
volumes. "Have you read that? Oh, it is delightful! I like it almost
best of all. But I have not had time to read much yet. Here is 'Harry
and Lucy,' and 'Rosamond,' and 'Frank.' I have just looked at them. And
'Sandford and Merton.' do you know 'Sandford and Merton'? I have just
read that."

"There are the 'Arabian Nights,'" said Christina.

"Is that good? I haven't read much yet. I don't know almost any of
them."

"'The Looking-Glass'"--Christina went on--"'Pity's Gift'--'Father's
Tales.'"

"Those are beautiful," Dolly put in. "I read one, about 'Grandfather's
old arm-chair.' Oh, it's _very_ interesting."

"'Elements of Morality'"--Christina read further on the back of a
brown book.

"That don't sound good, but I guess it _is_ good," said Dolly. "I just
peeped in, and 'Evenings at Home' looks pretty. Here is 'Robinson
Crusoe,' and 'Northern Regions;' I want to read that very much. I guess
it's delightful."

"Have you ever been to school before?" said Christina. The books had a
faint interest for her.

"No," said Dolly.

"Nor have I; but I know somebody who has been at Mrs. Delancy's, and
she says there is one lovely thing at that school. Every month they go
somewhere."

"They--go--somewhere," Dolly echoed the words. "Who go?"

"Everybody; teachers and scholars and all. There is a holiday; and Mrs.
Delancy takes them all to see something. One time it was a rope walk, I
think; and another time it was a paper-mill; and sometimes it's a
picture-gallery. It's something very interesting."

"I suppose we are not _obliged_ to go, are we, if we don't want to?"

"Oh, but we _do_ want to. I do."

"I would just as lief be at home with my Aunt Harry," said Dolly,
looking lovingly at the book-case. But Christina turned away from it.

"They dress a great deal at this school," she said. "Does your mother
dress you a great deal?"

"I don't know," said Dolly. "I don't know what you mean."

"Well, what's your school dress? what is it made of?"

"My school dress for every day! It is grey poplin. It is not new."

"Poplin will do, I suppose," said Christina. "But some of the girls
wear silk; old silk dresses, you know, but really handsome still, and
very stylish."

"What do you mean by 'stylish'?" said Dolly.

"Why don't you know what 'stylish' means?"

"No."

Christina looked doubtfully at her new little companion. Where could
Dolly have come from, and what sort of people could she belong to, who
did not know _that?_ The truth was, that Dolly being an only child and
living at home with her father and mother, had led a very childish life
up to this time; and her mother, owing to some invalidism, had lately
been withdrawn from the gay world and its doings. So, though the thing
was greatly upon her mother's heart, the word had never made itself
familiar to Dolly's ear. Christina was reassured, however, by observing
that the little girl's dress was quite what it ought to be, and
certainly bespoke her as belonging to people who "knew what was what."
So the practice was all right, and Dolly needed only instruction in the
theory.

"'Stylish,'"--she repeated. "It means--It is very hard to tell you
what it means. Don't you know? 'Stylish' means that things have an air
that belongs to the right kind of thing, and only what you see in a
certain sort of people. It is the way things look when people know how."

"Know how, what?" inquired Dolly.

"Know how things ought to be; how they ought to be worn, and how they
ought to be done."

"Then everybody ought to be stylish," said Dolly.

"Yes, but you cannot, my dear, unless you happen to know how."

"But I should think one could always know how things ought to be,"
Dolly went on. "The Bible tells."

"The Bible!" echoed Christina.

"Yes."

"The Bible tell one how to be stylish!"

"The Bible tells how things ought to be."

"Why, no, it don't, child! the Bible don't tell you what sort of a hat
to put on."

"Yes, it does, Christina. The Bible says, 'Whether you eat or drink, or
whatsoever you do, do all to the glory of God.' I can show you the
words."

"Oh, that is something quite different. That has nothing to do with
being stylish. How shall I make you understand? If your cravat wasn't
tied in a nice bow there, it wouldn't be stylish."

"Well," returned Dolly, "it wouldn't be to the glory of God either."

"What has that to do with it?"

"I think it would be wrong for a Christian to be anything but nice."

"Oh, it isn't being _nice!_" said Christina. "Your dress wouldn't be
stylish if it hadn't those flounces."

"And is it now?"

"Yes--I think it is. I should say, your mother knows what is what. It
isn't very easy to be stylish if you are poor; but I've seen people do
it, though."

"I don't think I understand, quite," said Dolly. "But when I am old
enough to dress myself,--to choose my own dresses, I mean, I shall
dress to please Jesus, Christina."

"You can't," said Christina. "I never heard of such a thing. It's
making religion little, I think, to talk so."

"I think, if religion isn't little, it'll _do_ so," answered Dolly.
Whereby each kept her own opinion; notwithstanding which, at the end of
the afternoon they separated, mutually pleased each with her new
acquaintance.

CHAPTER III.

THE MARINE DICTIONARY.

As the weeks of the first school term went on, the two girls drew
nearer to each other. Everybody inclined towards Dolly indeed; the
sweet, fresh, honest little face, with the kindly affections beaming
forth from it, and the sensitive nature quick to feel pleasure or pain,
and alive to fun in the midst of its seriousness, made such a quaint
mingling and such a curious variety and such a lovely creature, that
all sorts of characters were drawn towards her. From the head of the
school down, teachers and pupils, there was hardly one whose eye did
not soften and whose lips did not smile at Dolly's approach. With
Christina, on the other hand, it was not just so. She was not
particularly clever, not particularly emotional, not specially
sociable; calm and somewhat impassive, with all her fair beauty she was
overlooked in the practical "selection" which takes place in school
life; so that little Dolly after all came to be Christina's best
friend. Dolly never passed her over; was never unsympathetic; never
seemed to know her own popularity; and Christina's slow liking grew
into a real and warm affection as the passing days gave her more and
more occasion. In the matter of "style," it appears, Dolly had enough
to satisfy her; thanks to her mother; for Dolly herself was as
unconventional in spirit and manner as a child should be. In school
work proper, on the other hand, she was a pattern of diligence and
faithfulness; gave her teachers no trouble; of course had the good word
and good will of every one of them. Was it the working of Mr.
Eberstein's rule?

The first monthly holiday after school began was spent in Fairmount
Park. A few weeks later, Dolly and Christina were sitting together one
day, busy with some fancy work, when one of their schoolmates came up
to them.

"Guess where we are going next week!" she cried.

"Next week?" said the others, looking up.

"Next holiday--next week--next Saturday. Yes. Where do you think we are
going? Just guess. Oh, you can't guess."

"I can't guess," said Dolly; "I don't know what there is to go to. The
Mint? Mrs. Delancy did speak of the Mint."

"Not a bit of it! Something else has come up. Guess again."

"Something has _come up_. Then it must be something new."

"It isn't new, either. Can't a thing come to you that isn't new?"

"But you're talking riddles, Eudora," the other two said, laughing.

"Well, I'll tell you. There's a man-of-war come up the river."

"A man-of-war"--Dolly repeated.

"You know what that means, I hope, Dolly Copley?"

"I don't know. It means a soldier. The Bible says, Goliath was a
man-of-war from his youth."

Dolly as she spoke looked mystified, and her words were met by a shout
of laughter so loud and ringing that it almost abashed the child. Some
other girls had joined the group and were standing around, and there
were many to laugh. However, Dolly was never given to false shame. She
waited for more light.

"It's a _ship_, Dolly," they cried. "You dear little innocent, don't
you know as much as that?"

"It's a ship; and this is a big one. It is lying out in the Delaware."

"Then why is it called a man-of-war?" said Dolly.

"Because it is a war ship. Won't it be fun! just think!--the guns, and
the officers, and the midshipmen!"

"What are midshipmen?"

"I don't know!" cried another. "They are somebodies that are always on
a man-of-war; and they are young too. Baby officers, I suppose."

"They _are_ officers," said the first speaker.

"No, they're not. They are learning to be officers. They're at school,
and their school is a man-of-war; and their teachers are the captain,
and the lieutenants, and so on."

"And what are their lessons about?" said Dolly.

"_I_ don't know. Oh, they are learning to be officers, you know. Really
they are boys at school."

"Some of them are old enough," remarked another.

"Learning _what_, Eudora?" said Dolly.

"How do I know, chicken? I've never been a midshipman myself. You can
ask them if you like, when we go on board. For we are going on board,
girls! Hurrah! We shall drive over to the Navy Yard, and there we shall
get into boats, and then we shall row--I mean be rowed--out into the
stream to the ship. It's a big frigate, the 'Achilles;' and Mrs.
Delancy knows the captain; and she says it's a good chance, and she
will not have us lose it. Hurrah, girls! this is prime."

"What's a _frigate?_" was Dolly's next question.

"Dolly Copley, you are ridiculous! you want to understand everything."

"Don't you?"

"No! I guess I don't. I am tired enough with trying to understand a
little. I'll let alone what I can. You'll know what a frigate is when
you have been on board of her."

"But I think I should enjoy it a great deal more if I knew beforehand,"
said Dolly.

"You had best study a ship's dictionary. _I_ am going to study what I
shall wear."

"That you cannot tell yet," Christina remarked. "You do not know what
sort of a day next Saturday, I mean, Saturday week, will be. It may be
cold or"----

"It mayn't be hot," said the other. "It will be cold, cold enough. It's
November. You can wear your prettiest winter things, young ladies."

A little while after, the group had broken up, and Dolly sought out one
of the teachers and begged to know where she could find a "ship's
dictionary."

"A ship dictionary? My dear, there is no such thing. What do you want
to find out?"

"One of the girls said I could find out about ships in a ship's
dictionary. We are going to see a man-of-war next week."

"Oh, and you want to study up the subject? It is a Marine Dictionary
you are in quest of. Come to the library."

The library was always open to the girls for study purposes. The
teacher was good-natured, and got out a big, brown square volume, and
put it in Dolly's hand. Dolly had been followed by Christina; and now
the two sat down together in a window recess on the floor, with the
book before them. Dolly began at the beginning, and aloud.

"'_Aback_.'"

"That is nothing we want," remarked Christina.

"Oh yes, I think it is. It is 'the situation of the sails when their
surfaces are flatted against the masts by the force of the wind.' I do
not understand, though. The sails are said to be 'taken aback.'-- Oh, I
have heard mother say that. What could she mean? I have heard her say
she was taken aback."

"I have heard people say that too," said Christina; "often. I never
knew what they meant. Something disagreeable, I think."

"Well, you see," said Dolly, reading further, "it 'pushes the ship
_astern_'--what's that? 'See _Backing_.' I suppose it means pushing it
back. But I don't understand!" the little girl added with a sigh.

"Oh, well! we don't care about all that," said Dolly's companion. "Go
on to something else. Find out about the midshipmen."

"What about the midshipmen?"

"Nothing,--only I would like to know what they are. Madeleine said they
were young officers; very young; not older than some of us."

"Then why do you want to know about them?" said Dolly. "We have nothing
to do with young officers. We don't know any of them."

"But we might," suggested Christina. "We shall see them, if we go on
board the ship."

"I don't care about seeing them," said Dolly. "Young officers are young
men, I suppose. I understand _them;_ what I don't know about, is the
ship. Let us go on in this book, and see what we come to. '_Abaft_--the
hinder part of a ship'"----

"O Dolly!" cried Christina, "we have not time to go through everything
in this way. You have not turned over one leaf yet  Do get on a little."

"It is good it's a holiday," said Dolly, turning the leaf. "We have
plenty of time. I like this book. '_Aboard_,--the inside of a ship.' So
when we go into the ship, we go aboard. That's it."

"Go on," urged Christina. "Here's '_Admiral_.'"

"'An officer of first rank and command in the fleet.' There is a great
deal here about the Admiral. I don't believe we shall see him. We'll
look a little further."

Dolly presently was caught by the word "_Anchor_," and lost herself in
the study of the paragraphs following, and the plate accompanying;
after which she declared that she understood how a ship could be held
by its anchor. Urged to go on again, she turned over more leaves, but
got lost in the study of "_boats;_" then of "_cannon;_" then of the
"_captain_'s" office and duties; finally paused at the plate and
description of a ship's deck.

"It's just the deck of a ship!" said Christina impatiently. "You will
see it when we go on board the 'Achilles.'"

"I want to understand it."

"You can't."

"Are those guns?" said Dolly, pointing to a row of pieces delineated
along the side of the deck.

"Must be guns."

"Well, I should like to go on board of a ship very much," said Dolly.
"There are twelve guns on that side. If there are the same on this
side, that would make twenty-four. What do they want so many for,
Christina, on one ship?"

"Why, to fight with, of course. To fire at other ships."

"But what do they want of _so many?_ They would not want to fire twelve
at once. I should think one would be enough."

"Perhaps it wouldn't. Go on, Dolly, do! let us get to something else."

It was difficult to get Dolly on. She was held fast again by the
description of a naval engagement; then fell to studying the directions
for the "_exercise_" of the guns; then was interested in some plates
giving various orders of the line of battle. At last in due course they
came to the word "_Midshipman_," which was read, or the article under
it, by both girls.

"'A naval cadet'"--repeated Christina.

"And a cadet must be four years at sea before he can become a
lieutenant; and two years midshipman besides. I should think they would
be tired of it."

"But if they are going to be sailors all their lives, it's no use for
them to get tired of it," said Christina.

"They come on shore sometimes, don't they?"

"I suppose so. Oh yes, they have houses, I know, and wives and
children. I shouldn't like to be the wife of a sailor!"

"Somebody must, I suppose," said Dolly. "But I shouldn't like to have
my home--my principal home, I mean--on the sea; if I was a man. _They_
must like it, I suppose."

Dolly went on reading.

"The midshipmen have plenty to do, Christina. They have to learn how to
do everything a common sailor does; all the work of the ship; and then
they must learn astronomy, and geometry, and navigation and mechanics.
Hydrostatics, too; oh dear, I don't know what that is. I can look it
out, I suppose. The midshipmen must be very busy, Christina, and at
hard work too."

Christina's interest in the Marine Dictionary was exhausted. She went
off; but Dolly pored over its pages still, endeavouring to take in
details about vessels, and ropes, and sails, and winds, until her head
was in a fog. She recurred to the book, however, on the next
opportunity; and from time to time, as her lessons permitted, gave her
time and attention to this seemingly very unnecessary subject. How much
she really learned, is doubtful; yet as little things do touch and link
themselves with great things, it may be that the old Marine Dictionary
in Mrs. Delancy's library played a not insignificant part in the
fortunes of Dolly Copley. As we shall see. She studied, till a ship
became a romance to her; till rigging and spars and decks and guns were
like the furniture of a new and strange life, which hardly belonged to
the earth, being upon the sea; and the men who lived that life, and
especially the men who ruled in it, grew to be invested with
characteristics of power and skill and energy which gave them fabulous
interest in Dolly's eyes.

At home there had been a little scruple about letting Dolly join the
party. She had had a cold, and was rather delicate at all times. The
scruples, however, gave way before the child's earnest wish; and as
Saturday of the particular week turned out mild and quiet, no hindrance
was put in the way of the expedition.

CHAPTER IV.

THE "ACHILLES."

It was a very special delectation which the school were to enjoy
to-day. The girls thought it always "fun," of course, to quit lessons
and go to see anything; "even factories," as one of the girls expressed
it, to Dolly's untold astonishment; for it seemed to her that to be
allowed to look into the mystery of manufactures must be the next thing
to taking part personally in a fairy tale. However, to-day it was not a
question of manufactures, but of a finished and furnished big ship, and
not only finished and furnished, but manned. "_This_ is something
lively," Eudora opined. And she was quite right.

The day was a quiet day in November, with just a spice of frost in it;
the air itself was lively, quick and quickening. The party were driven
to the Navy Yard in carriages, and there received very politely by the
officers, some of whom knew Mrs. Delancy and lent themselves with much
kindness to the undertaking. The girls were more or less excited with
pleasure and anticipation; but to Dolly the Navy Yard seemed to be
already touching the borders of that mysterious and fascinating sea
life in which her fancy had lately been roaming. So when the girls were
all carefully bestowed in stout little row boats to go out to the ship,
Dolly's foot it was which stepped upon enchanted boards, and her eye
that saw an enchanted world around her. What a field was this rippling
water, crisped with the light breeze, and gurgling under the boat's
smooth sweep ahead! How the oars rose and fell, all together, as if
moved by only one hand. Was this a part of the order and discipline of
which she had read lately, as belonging to this strange world?
Probably; for now and then a command was issued to the oarsmen, curt
and sharp; and obeyed, Dolly saw, although she did not know what the
command meant. Yes, she was in an enchanted sphere; and she looked at
the "Achilles" as they drew nearer, with profoundest admiration. Its
great hulk grew large upon her view, with an absolute haze of romance
and mystery hanging about its decks and rigging. It was a large ship,
finely equipped, according to the fashion of naval armament which was
prevalent in those days; she was a three-decker; and the port holes of
her guns looked in threatening ranks along the sides of the vessel.
Still and majestic she lay upon the quiet river; a very wonderful
floating home indeed, and unlike all else she had ever known, to
Dolly's apprehension. How she and the rest were ever to get on board
was an insoluble problem to her, as to most of them; and the chair that
was presently lowered along the ship's side to receive them, seemed a
very precarious sort of means of transport. However, the getting aboard
was safely accomplished; one by one they were hoisted up; and Dolly's
feet stood upon the great main deck. And the first view was perfectly
satisfactory, and even went far beyond her imaginings. She found
herself standing under a mixed confusion of masts and spars and sails,
marvellous to behold, which yet she also saw was no confusion at all,
but complicated and systematic order. How much those midshipmen must
have to learn, though, if they were to know the names and uses and
handling of every spar and every rope and each sail among them! as
Dolly knew they must. Her eye came back to the deck. What order there
too; what neatness; why it was beautiful; and the uniforms here and
there, and the sailors' hats and jackets, filled up the picture to her
heart's desire. Dolly breathed a full breath of satisfaction.

The Captain of the "Achilles" made his appearance, Captain Barbour. He
was a thick-set, grizzly haired man, rather short, not handsome at all;
and yet with an air of authority unmistakably clothing him like a
garment of power and dignity. Plainly this man's word was law, and the
girls stood in awe of him. He was known to Mrs. Delancy; and now she
went on to present formally all her young people to him. The captain
returned the courtesy by calling up and introducing to her and them
some of his officers; and then they went to a review of the ship.

It took a long while. Between Mrs. Delancy and Captain Barbour a lively
conversation was carried on; Dolly thought he was explaining things to
the lady that she did not understand; but though it might be the case
now and then, I think the talk moved mainly upon less technical
matters. Dolly could not get near enough to hear what it was, at any
rate. The young lieutenants, too, were taken up with playing the host
to the older young ladies of the party. If _they_ received instruction
also by the way, Dolly could not tell; the laughing hardly looked like
it. She and the other young ones at any rate followed humbly at the
tail of everything, and just came up to a clear view of some detail
when the others were moving away. There was nobody to help Dolly
understand anything; nevertheless, she wandered in a fairy vision of
wonderland. Into the cabins, down to the forecastle, down to the gun
deck. What could equal the black strangeness of _that_ view! and what
could it all mean? Dolly wished for her Uncle Edward, or some one, to
answer a thousand questions. She had been reading about the guns, she
looked curiously now at the realities, of which she had studied the
pictures; recognised here a detail and there a detail, but remaining
hugely ignorant of the whole and of the bearing of the several parts
upon each other. Yet she did not know how time flew; she did not know
that she was getting tired; from one strange thing to another she
followed her leaders about; very much alone indeed, for even the other
girls of her own age were staring at a different class of objects, and
could hardly be said to see what she saw, much less were ready to ask
what she wanted to ask. Dolly went round in a confused dream.

At last the party had gone everywhere that such a party could go;
Captain Barbour had spared them the lower gun deck. They came back to
the captain's cabin, where a very pleasant lunch was served to the
ladies. It was served, that is, to those who could get it, to those who
were near enough and old enough to put in a claim by right of
appearance. Dolly and one or two more who were undeniably little girls
stood a bad chance, hanging about on the outskirts of the crowd, for
the cabin would not take them all in; and hearing a distant sound of
clinking glass and silver and words of refreshment. It was all they
seemed likely to get; and when a kindly elderly officer had taken pity
on the child and given Dolly a biscuit, she concluded to resign the
rest of the unattainable luncheon and make the most of her other
opportunities while she had them. Eating the biscuit, which she was
very glad of, she wandered off by herself, along the deck; looking
again carefully at all she saw; for her eyes were greedy of seeing.
Sails,--what strange shapes; and how close rolled up some of them were!
Ropes,--what a multitude; and cables. Coils of them on deck; and if she
looked up, an endless tracery of lines seen against the blue sky. There
was a sailor going up something like a rope ladder; going up and up;
how could he? and how far could he go? Dolly almost grew dizzy gazing
at him.

"What are you looking after, little one?" a voice near her asked. An
unceremonious address, certainly; frankly put; but the voice was not
unkindly or uncivil, and

Question: Summarize the above passage in exactly 500 words and give a brief outlook on it.