“What’s wrong with ye, lad?” the captain asked.  “Why can’t ye answer a straight question?”

“Sit down, dad, and don’t get excited,” was the reply.  “There, that’s better.  There’s something I want to tell you, and it’s been on my mind for weeks past, so it might as well be now as any other time.  When I left home I wrote to you quite often.  But when I got away north, and mixed up with a rough crowd, I somehow got out of the way of writing.  I was a long way from the post-office, and mails were very irregular, which perhaps had something to do with my neglect.  I struck it rich there, dad, and made my pile, which, thank God, is now safe in the bank.  When I came ‘outside,’ it was to have, as I thought, a good time.  I did several of the big cities on the Pacific coast, and then drifted to New York.  I need not tell you of my life there, as it wouldn’t do any good.  I had the money, and so there was no trouble about seeing the seamy side of life.  But one night, I don’t know yet how it happened, I drifted into a place to hear a famous singer.  She was great, and her voice, oh, dad, I wish you could have heard it.  But what got me was the closing piece.  It was called, ’My Little Lad, God Bless Him.’  I can’t begin to tell how that song affected me.  It seemed like the cry of a broken-hearted mother for her only boy, who was away from her.  In an instant I thought of mother and you, and when I left the place that night I was all broken up.  I tried to shake the feeling off, but every night it came upon me stronger than ever.

“As the weeks went by I became very wretched.  I saw what a brute I had been, and how you at home must have suffered.  The upshot of it was, that I left New York, landed in St. John, got waylaid, was in the hospital unconscious for a long time, unknown to all.  When I got out, I took the evening train, intending to hire a team at Greenside to drive me home.  I couldn’t get any one to bring me at that time of the night, and so I began to foot it.  When the storm overtook me I fought hard, but I was very weak, and—­oh, well, you know the rest.”

When Jimmy was through, the captain sat for some time without saying a word.  He looked straight before him, as if watching the ice, and wondering when it would go out.  But he saw nothing there, for his mind was upon more important things.

“Jimmy,” he at last remarked, “this is all His doin’s.  I kin see that now.  He has protected you, and brought ye back to us.”

“Who?” Jimmy asked in surprise.  “It was that song which did it.”

“Ah, yes, Jimmy.  But back of that was Another, the very One I’ve been neglectin’ fer years.  It’s wonderful, lad! it’s wonderful, and don’t ye fergit it.”

The very next Sunday morning, Parson Dan, and all those at church, were astonished to see the scouts march in, accompanied by their scout-master.  It was the first time in years that the captain had been there, and all noted how thoughtful and reverent he was.  He had ordered the scouts to attend Headquarters that morning, without telling them of his plans.  From there he had marched them straight to church, with orders to behave themselves, and do credit to the troop.