Part 51 (1/2)

Jill and I even crept out along bowsprit and jib-boom, and waved our handkerchiefs and shouted again.

Was there ever such an home-coming in the world I wonder!

Auntie knows our voices. Mother waves back to us.

”Call away the boat!”

In a few minutes more, rowed by the st.u.r.dy arms of Lawlor and Ritchie, the little boat is bounding over the water.

Then it is beached, and mother, half hysterical and wholly in tears, does not know which of us to hug first.

And the fact is she does not know till we tell her which is Jack and which is Jill.

”I'm Jack, mother;” ”I'm Jill, mother,” we say.

Then we go all up home together.

Mattie was well, but away at school. She returned next day, however, and Jill and I were half afraid of her, so tall and beautiful had she become. But dear Mattie was self-possessed enough, though we semi-civilised sailors were shy.

This was a never-to-be-forgotten day. We had brought Mattie--we would always call her Mattie--a father and a sister. For this box was _the_ box, and that is saying enough.

For many voyages after this, Jill and I sailed together in the same s.h.i.+ps. And very often Ritchie and Lawlor were our s.h.i.+pmates.