“What a poor old country England is,” said Grace.

“Why so?” asked Sedgwick.

“Why, had we but had snowdrifts and ‘Thank-ee-moms,’ I would have made you kiss me three weeks sooner than you did,” said Grace.

“Did you want me to kiss you sooner than I did?” asked Sedgwick.

“O, you blind darling!” said Grace.  “When I read of your exploit before the church in Devonshire, I told Jack and Rose that I would like to kiss that man.  Then he told me who the man was, and after all I had to wait so long I began to fear he would never give me a chance to carry out my desire.”

“Is that true, Gracie?” asked Sedgwick.

“Indeed it is,” she replied, and then she quickly continued, “Does it drift badly along here?”

“Pretty badly,” answered Sedgwick.

“Then, love,” answered Grace, “buy the farm by all means and at all hazards.”

“I believe I will,” said Sedgwick.  “I believe we need it in our business.  If when we get back to England it shall be known that we have bought a home in America, and are having a house built, it will take all suspicions about a possible African enterprise away.”

And that day he bought the farm, and the next one to it, and told his brother he would send from England plans for a house to be built in the spring.

Next day came the parting from the old home.  Sedgwick promised to return before many months and stay longer, and he and his wife started for New York.

They rested over one train at Niagara, and took in its splendor as seen in winter-time, and arrived in New York on Wednesday.  Forbes had purchased the tickets, and secured the rooms on the ship for the whole party.  Thursday and Friday were devoted to taking in as much as possible of the great city.  On Saturday they sailed.

The voyage was generally uneventful, except that one day they were treated to a beautiful spectacle of rescuing a crew from a water-logged craft.  The wind was fresh, and there was an uneasy sea on, when a signal of distress was noted off across the water.  The steamer was headed for it, and in half an hour came up to it.  It was a little old lumber schooner.  The sea was washing its deck with every wave.  In the meantime, the second officer, with six seamen, had taken their places in a boat.  The boat had been swung out over the water.  The sailors were standing by, holding the tackle by which a boat is lowered; the commander was on the bridge, and when in hailing distance of the craft he dropped his hand and the engines stopped.  He shouted through his trumpet, asking what was wanted.  “To come aboard,” a voice came back.  The commander dropped his hand again, and down ran the boat and pulled away for the wreck.  It would mount a wave, and then sink out of sight of those on the ship’s high deck; then climb again.  It returned in twenty minutes, and it was the commander of the great ship that took the hand of the schooner’s rough skipper as the boat was hoisted, and for the remainder of the voyage the shipwrecked skipper had a state-room by himself, and his seat at the table was at the commander’s right hand.