"But you didn't do it, my lad. And you were not the less courageous

because you knew the danger that you freely met. You are brave, Ishmael,

and as good and wise as you are brave."

"Oh, professor, I know you believe so, else you wouldn't say it; but I

cannot help thinking that if I really were good I shouldn't vex Aunt

Hannah as often as I do."

"Humph!" said the professor.

"And then if I were wise, I would always know right from wrong."

"And don't you?"

"No, professor; because last night when I ran into the burning house to

save the boys I thought I was doing right; and when the ladies so kindly

thanked me, I felt sure I had done right; but this morning, when Aunt

Hannah scolded me, I doubted."

"My boy, listen to the oracles of experience. Do what your own

conscience assures you to be right, and never mind what others think or

say. I, who have been your guide up to this time, can be so no longer. I

can scarcely follow you at a distance, much less lead you. A higher hand

than Old Morris' shall take you on. But here we are now at the Hall,"

said the professor, as he opened the gates to admit himself and his

companion.

They passed up the circular drive leading to the front of the house,

paused a few minutes to gaze upon the ruins of the burnt wing, of which

nothing was now left but a shell of brick walls and a cellar of smoking

cinders, and then they entered the house by the servant's door.

"Mr. Middleton and the Commodore are in the library, and you are to take

the boy in there," said Grainger, who was superintending the clearing

away of the ruins.

"Come along, young Ishmael!" said the professor, and as he knew the way

of the house quite as well as the oldest servant in it, he passed

straight on to the door of the library and knocked.

"Come in," said the voice of Mr. Middleton.

And the professor, followed by Ishmael, entered the library.

It was a handsome room, with the walls lined with book-cases; the windows

draped with crimson curtains; the floor covered with a rich carpet; a

cheerful fire burning in the grate; and a marble-top table in the center

of the room, at which was placed two crimson velvet arm-chairs occupied

by two gentlemen--namely, Mr. Middleton and Commodore Burghe. The

latter was a fine, tall, stout jolly old sailor, with a very round

waist, a very red face, and a very white head, who, as soon as ever he

saw Ishmael enter, got up and held out his broad hand, saying: "This is the boy, is it? Come here, my brave little lad, and let us take

a look at you!"




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