“But your story, boys; let us have it,” said Mr. Dinsmore.

“Yes, we have a story, grandpa,” said Edward, with emphasis and excitement; “but Harold should tell it; he could do it better than I.”

“No, no,” Harold said; “you are as good a story-teller as I.”

“There!” laughed Herbert.  “I believe I’ll have to do it myself, or with your extreme politeness to each other you’ll keep the audience waiting all night.

“The storm came suddenly upon us when we were about half way home, or maybe something more; and it presently became evident that we were in imminent danger of wreck.  The captain soon concluded that our only chance was in letting the Edna drive right before the wind, which would take us in exactly the direction we wished to pursue, but with rather startling celerity; and that was what he did.

“She flew over the water like a wild winged bird, and into the harbor with immense velocity.  Safely enough, though, till we were there, almost at the wharf, when we struck against another vessel anchored near, and actually cut her in two, spilling the crew into the water.”

“Don’t look so horrified, mother dear,” said Harold, as Herbert paused for breath; “no one was drowned, no one even hurt.”

“Barring the wetting and the fright, as the Irish say,” added Edward.

“But the latter was a real hurt,” said Harold; “for the cry they sent up as they made the sudden, involuntary plunge from their berths, where they were probably asleep at the moment of collision, into the cold, deep water of the harbor, was something terrible to hear.”

“Enough to curdle one’s blood,” added Herbert.

“And you are quite sure all were picked up?” asked Elsie, her sweet face full of pity for the unfortunate sufferers.

“Yes, mother, quite sure,” answered Edward; “the captain of the craft said, in my hearing, that no one was missing.”

“And the captain of the other will probably have pretty heavy damages to pay,” remarked Mr. Dinsmore.

“I presume so,” said Edward; “but even that would be far better than the loss of his vessel, with all the lives of those on board.”

“Money could not pay for those last,” Elsie said, low and tremulously, as she looked at her three tall sons through a mist of unshed tears; “and I will gladly help the Edna’s captain to meet the damages incurred in his efforts to save them.”

“Just like you, mother,” Edward said, giving her a look of proud, fond affection.

“I entirely approve, and shall be ready to contribute my share,” said her father.  “But it is very late, or rather early—­long past midnight—­and we should be getting to bed.  But let us first unite in a prayer of thanksgiving to our God for all His mercies, especially this—­that our dear boys are restored to us unharmed.”

They knelt, and led by him, all hearts united in a fervent outpouring of gratitude and praise to the Giver of all good.