“No, Lu; I promised I wouldn’t.  But I should think you’d be punished enough with all the wetting and the fright; for weren’t you most scared to death?”

“No; I was frightened, but not nearly so much as that.  Not so much as I should be if papa were to walk in just now; because he’d have to hear all about it, and then he’d look so sorry and troubled, and punish me besides.”

“Then you wouldn’t be glad to see papa if he came back?” Grace said, in a reproachfully inquiring tone.

“Yes, I should,” Lulu answered, promptly; “the punishment wouldn’t last long, you know; he and I would both get over it pretty soon, and then it would be so delightful to have him with us again.”

Lulu woke the next morning feeling no ill effects whatever from her exposure to the storm.

Before she and Grace had quite finished their morning toilet Grandma Elsie was at their door, asking if they were well.  She stayed for a little chat with them, and Lulu asked what her punishment was to be.

“Simply a prohibition of lonely rambles,” Elsie answered, with a grave but kindly look; “and I trust it will prove all-sufficient; you are to keep near the rest of us for your own safety.”

CHAPTER IX.

“He that spareth his rod hateth his son:  but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.”—­Prov. 13:  24.

When the morning boat touched at Nantucket pier there were among the throng which poured ashore two fine-looking gentlemen—­one in the prime of life, the other growing a little elderly—­who sought out at once a conveyance to ’Sconset.

The hackman had driven them before, and recognized them with evident pleasure mingled with surprise.

“Glad to see you back again, capt’n,” he remarked, addressing the younger of his two passengers; “but it’s kind of unexpected, isn’t it?  I understood you’d gone to join your ship, expecting to sail directly for foreign parts.”

“Yes, that was all correct,” returned Captain Raymond, gayly, for he it was, in company with Mr. Dinsmore; “but orders are sometimes countermanded, as they were in this instance, to my no small content.”

“They’ll be dreadful glad to see you at ’Sconset,” was the next remark; “surprised, too.  By the way, sir, your folks had a fright last evening.”

“A fright?” inquired both gentlemen in a breath, and exchanging a look of concern.

“Yes, sirs; about one of your little girls, capt’n—­the oldest one, I understood it was.  Seems she’d wandered off alone to Tom Never’s Head, or somewhere in that neighborhood, and was caught by the darkness and storm, and didn’t find her way home till the older folks had begun to think she’d been swept away by the tide, which was coming in, to be sure; but they thought it might have been the backward flow of a big wave that had rushed up a little too quick for her, taking her off her feet and hurrying her into the surf before she could struggle up again.”