One day when the children had grown to man’s and woman’s estate the mother called them all together and said to them, “I want to tell you the story of your father and of this island,” and she told them the simple story that is written here.

“And now,” she said, “as you go out into the world I want each of you to take with you the spirit of your father’s work, and each, in your own way and place, to do as he has done:  make you the world a bit more beautiful and better because you have been in it.  That is your mother’s message to you.”

The first son to leave the island home went with a band of hardy men to South Africa, where they settled and became known as “the Boers.”  Tirelessly they worked at the colony until towns and cities sprang up and a new nation came into being:  The Transvaal Republic.  The son became secretary of state of the new country, and to-day the United States of South Africa bears tribute, in part, to the mother’s message to “make the world a bit more beautiful and better.”

The second son left home for the Dutch mainland, where he took charge of a small parish; and when he had finished his work he was mourned by king and peasant as one of the leading clergymen of his time and people.

A third son, scorning his own safety, plunged into the boiling surf on one of those nights of terror so common to that coast, rescued a half-dead sailor, carried him to his father’s house, and brought him back to a life of usefulness that gave the world a record of imperishable value.  For the half-drowned sailor was Heinrich Schliemann, the famous explorer of the dead cities of Troy.

The first daughter now left the island nest; to her inspiration her husband owed, at his life’s close, a shelf of works in philosophy which to-day are among the standard books of their class.

The second daughter worked beside her husband until she brought him to be regarded as one of the ablest preachers of his land, speaking for more than forty years the message of man’s betterment.

To another son it was given to sit wisely in the councils of his land; another followed the footsteps of his father.  Another daughter, refusing marriage for duty, ministered unto and made a home for one whose eyes could see not.

So they went out into the world, the girls and boys of that island home, each carrying the story of their father’s simple but beautiful work and the remembrance of their mother’s message.  Not one from that home but did well his or her work in the world; some greater, some smaller, but each left behind the traces of a life well spent.

And, as all good work is immortal, so to-day all over the world goes on the influence of this one man and one woman, whose life on that little Dutch island changed its barren rocks to a bower of verdure, a home for the birds and the song of the nightingale.  The grandchildren have gone to the four corners of the globe, and are now the generation of workers—­some in the far East Indies; others in Africa; still others in our own land of America.  But each has tried, according to the talents given, to carry out the message of that day, to tell the story of the grandfather’s work; just as it is told here by the author of this book, who, in the efforts of his later years, has tried to carry out, so far as opportunity has come to him, the message of his grandmother: