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"What was the use of waiting?" cried a hearty, cheery voice, as the door flew open.

"Jack, old boy," cried a bronzed man, coming forward, "just look at me. Don't you say you don't know me, though, as Sam did, for I won't believe I've so much changed as that. I'm Joe; the hearty old Joe -- bless Heaven! and you are sick, eh! Well, I've got a sovereign panacea."

By this time he had both my father's hands in his, the great, black-bearded, tanned sailor, and was down on his knees beside him.

"I've come home with plenty of rocks, old fellow, and, by Jove, we'll go shares. That's not swearing, I hope, for I've knocked that habit off. That pretty girl is yours, eh? and that beautiful boy? And Em's sweet face is a little paler, though not much older. I've come to adopt the whole family. I've seen Sam, scolded because he wanted you to give him your small boy there, and you wouldn't do it. That's right, heart of oak! that's my boy. I told him I'd a better plan than that afoot -- that I should adopt you all.

"What! crying? why, bless me," and he dashed his own handkerchief across his eyes, "I don't believe you're glad to see the old scapegrace -- the runaway. But, Lord love ye, I've earned the right to a universal brotherhood. The old sinner has gone, and a new man stands in his place; my Father has sent me to care of some of His children, and their names happened to be just like my own."

It was a curious scene. As for me I could do nothing but hug little Harry to my heart, and thank God, with all my soul.

Uncle Joe was the dearest, cheeriest, happiest man I ever saw in my life.

I was not to go to the factory again, he said, for he had work enough to keep me busy for a year; he wanted exactly one thousand shirts made, and if I had a mind to take the contract I might have them all and farm them out, as he expressed it.

How busy he was, all the following week! A new house was hunted up, new furniture put in it, the cellar was stocked with wood and coal enough to last two years. My father, cheered by such timely help, left his rheumatic chair, gathered up his strength, and walked. My mother grew healthy and young again, and I never knew what it was any longer to have every bone in my body ache.

Uncle Joe's story was a strange one, but I must tell it some other time. Harry is now eighteen, and a boy to be proud of -- while the poor child adopted by Uncle Sam, is fast going the downward road to ruin. I often think, what if it were Harry! and my heart goes out in gratitude to God that he has kept him, and kept us all in safety.

Everybody was delighted with Uncle Ralph's story, and Tilly, who was quite the happiest girl among them all, as one might see by her shining eyes.

"I wonder if it is all true?" she asked.

"Grandpa says he always has facts to build upon," said Anne, "and I guess some of it is true."

"It's half past two," said Kate Waters, looking at her watch.

"You'll tell me when to make the fire and set the kettle to boil, rejoined Tilly's mother, intent upon doing her part towards the entertainment.

"O, yes, it won't be time for hours yet. Are you tired, Tilly?"

"Tired, oh, no; I was never so happy in my life. I thank you all for your great kindness very much."

"And now shall I give you Mamma May's story next?" asked Anne, and Miss Kate will read. So the next story in order was called.

Aunt Mercy, in the court, over there, says "it's all right," everything, I suppose she means; but if it is all right, everything, I don't see why I should be so unhappy and miserable.

All right, everything; let me see. In the first place my father was a wicked man; yes, he must have been, for I have heard tell how drunk he got, and quarrelled with everybody about him, though he was a scholar and a gentleman, once.

Then he had an awful fall, and laid in a hospital for six months, which kept him from drink, and from treating mother and me cruelly. Then mother was attacked with a fever, and laid all alone till she was too far gone to help and she died and I was taken by somebody, I don't know who. I wonder why I lived!

Aunt Mercy said I was treated badly, and she don't see bow I escaped being killed altogether, for few children were as dreadfully treated as I was. I can remember to this day how I was beat round by an old French woman. She used to go picking rags and all sorts of things out of the streets, and when she had been drinking gin or brandy it used to seem to be her delight to knock me about. I've got scars on my head, and my arms, and all over me. Once she put a coal of fire on my foot, right on the bare flesh and make me keep still by brute force.

It's no wonder I feel as if I'd never had a childhood, is it? Childhood! I marvel what it means sometimes. To be sure, I could go and look in at the shopwindows, and see the pretty dolls, and all the playthings that I shouldn't have known how to use, and sometimes, though I'm seventeen now, my fingers itch to have a doll in my hands to play with.