Dame Charter led the weeping girl to the bench, and they talked long together.  There was no optimist in all the British colonies, nor for that matter in those belonging to France or Spain, or even to the Dutch, who was a more conscientious follower of her creed than Dame Charter.  She sat by Kate and she talked to her until the girl stopped sobbing and began to see for herself that her father knew his own business, and that he had most certainly sent her a message to go on shore, which had not been delivered.

As to poor Ben Greenway, the good woman was greatly relieved that her son had not mentioned him, and she took care not to do it herself.  She did not wish to strain her optimism.  Kate, having so much else upon her mind, never thought of this good man.

When Dickory came back, he first looked to see if Kate still wore his shoes and stockings, and then he began to ask what there was that he might now do.  He would go again to the town if he might be of use.  But Kate had no errand for him there.  Dickory had told her how he had been with Mr. Newcombe at her home, and therefore there was no need of her sending him another message.

“I don’t know where to go or where to send,” she said simply; “I am lost, and that is all of it.”

“Oh, no,” cried Dame Charter, “not that!  You are with good friends, and here you can stay just as long as you like.”

“Indeed she can!” said Dickory, as if he were making a response in church.

His mother looked at him and said nothing.  And then she took Kate out into a little grove behind the house to see if she could find some ripe oranges.

It was a fair property, although not large, which belonged to the Widow Charter.  Her husband had been a thriving man, although a little inclined to speculations in trade which were entirely out of his line, and when he met his death in the sea he left her nothing but her home and some inconsiderable land about it.  Dickory had been going to a grammar-school in the town, and was considered a fair scholar, but with his father’s death all that stopped, and the boy was obliged to go to work to do what he could for his mother.  And ever since he had been doing what he could, without regard to appearances, thinking only of the money.

But on Sunday, when he rowed his mother to church, he wore good clothes, being especially proud of his buckled shoes and his long brown hose, which were always of good quality.

They were eating dinner when oars were heard on the river, and in a moment a boat swung around into the inlet.  In the stern sat Master Martin Newcombe, and two men were rowing.

Now Dickory Charter swore in his heart, although he was not accustomed to any sort of blasphemy; and as Miss Kate gazed eagerly through the open window, our young friend narrowly scrutinized her face to see if she were glad or not.  She was glad, that was plain enough, and he went out sullenly to receive the arriving interloper.