One day she missed the lad.  Searching for him, she found that he had gone out in a boat with other children, among whom he sat like a little king, giving his orders, which the rest were obeying with shouted repetitions.  When Clarice called to him, and begged the children to return, he followed their example, took off his cap, and waved it at her, in defiance, with the rest.

Clarice sat down on the shore in despair.  Bitter tears ran down her cheeks.

Bondo Emmins passed by, and saw what was going on.  “Ho! ho!  Clarice needs some one to help her hold the rein,” said he to himself; and going to the water’s edge, he raised his voice, and beckoned the children ashore.  He enforced the gesture by a word,—­“Come home!”

The little rebels did not wait a second summons, but obeyed the strong voice of the strong man, trembling.  They paddled the boat to the shore, and landed quite crestfallen, ashamed, it seemed.  Then Bondo, having bid the youngsters disperse, with a threat, if he ever saw them engaged in the like business, walked away, without speaking to Gabriel, or even looking at him.

VIII.

Clarice was half annoyed at this interference; it seemed to suppose, she thought, that she was unequal to the management of her own affairs.—­But was she equal to it?

After Bondo had walked away, she called to Gabriel, who stood alone when the other children had deserted him, and knew not what to do.  He would have run away, had he not been afraid of fisherman Emmins.

“Come here, my son,” said Clarice.  She did not speak very loud, nor in the least sternly; but he heard her quite distinctly, and he hesitated.

“I’m not your son!” he concluded to answer.

A sword through the heart of Clarice would have killed her, but there are pains which do not slay that are worse than the pains of death.  Clarice Briton’s face was pale with anguish, when she arose and said,—­

“Gabriel, come here!”

The child saw something awful in her eyes, and heard in her voice something that made him tremble.  He came, and sat down in the place to which Clarice pointed.  It was a hard moment for her.  Other words bitter as this, which disowned her love and care and defied her authority, the child could not have spoken.  She answered him as if he had not been a child; and a truth which no words could have made him comprehend seemed to break upon and overwhelm him, while she spoke.

“It is true,” she said, “you are not my son.  I have no right to call you mine.  Listen, Gabriel, while I tell you how it happens that you live with me, and I take care of you, as if you were my child.  I was down at the Point one day,—­that place where we go to watch the birds, you know, my—­Gabriel.  While I sat there alone, I saw a plank that was dashed by the waves up and down, as you see a boat carried when the wind blows hard and sounds so terrible; but