As poor Alice could not answer this, she cast down her tearful eyes, sighed again and looked more miserable than ever.

“But come, my pet,” resumed Mr. Mason, you must guess again.  “It is really good news,—­try.”

“I can’t,” said Alice, looking up in her father’s face with animation and shaking her head.  “I never could guess anything rightly.”

“What would you think the best thing that could happen?” said her father.

The child looked intently at the ground for a few seconds, and pursed her rosy little mouth, while the smallest possible frown—­the result of intellectual exertion—­knitted her fair brow.

“The best thing that could happen,” said she, slowly, “would be that all the whole world should become good.”

“Well done, Alice!” exclaimed her father, laughing; “you have certainly taken the widest possible view of the subject.  But you have soared a little too high; yet you have not altogether missed the mark.  What would you say if, the chiefs of the heathen village were to cast their idols into the fire, and ask me to come over and teach them how to become Christians?”

“Oh! have they really done this?” cried Alice, in eager surprise.

“Indeed they have.  I have just seen and had! a talk with some of their chief men, and have promised to go over to their village to-morrow.  I came up here just to tell you this, and to say that your friend the widow will take care of you while I am away.”

“And shall we have no more wars,—­no more of these terrible deeds of blood?” inquired the child, while a shudder passed through her frame at the recollection of what she had heard and seen during her short life on that island.

“I trust not, my lamb.  I believe that God has heard our prayers, and that the Prince of peace will henceforth rule in this place.  But I must go and prepare for this work.  Come, will you go with me?”

“Leave me here for a little, papa; I wish to think it over all alone.”

Kissing her forehead, the missionary left her.  When he was out of sight the little girl sat down, and, nestling between two great roots of her favorite tree, laid her head against the stem and shut her eyes.

But poor Alice was not left long to her solitary meditations.  There was a peculiarly attractive power about her which drew other creatures around her, wherever she might chance to be.

The first individual who broke in upon her was that animated piece of ragged door-mat, Toozle.  This imbecile little dog was not possessed of much delicacy of feeling.  Having been absent on a private excursion of his own into the mountain when the schooner arrived, he only became aware of the return of his lost, loved, and deeply-regretted mistress, when he came back from his trip.  The first thing that told him of her presence was his own nose, the black point of which protruded with difficulty a quarter of an inch beyond the mass of matting which totally extinguished his eyes, and, indeed, every other portion of his head.