THE FATTED CALF. 19 



" I forgive thee " said the girl. " Isn't that what 

 you hope from me ?" A burst of generous laughter 

 shook the table. 



"What did we tell you?" said he of the red 

 rose. " Just the same rogue as before he turned 

 blubber-hunter. Daddy Jones was right. You 

 remember he said, ' Glad he's gone — pesky glad, 

 but I pity that there cap'n o' his'n ! ' 



Turkey, doughnuts, mince-pie, and sweet cider 

 had found their way to destruction. The merry 

 party left the table and trooped into the large, 

 old-fashioned parlor, where the fun began afresh. 

 There was dancing, in the quaint manner now 

 gone by ; there were games, of the hilarious 

 sort no longer in vogue; there were songs 

 — forgotten, most of them, long ere this. The 

 Prodigal thought it a sumptuous occasion. For 

 five years he had not sat in a cushioned chair 

 or stepped upon a carpeted floor. To his sailorly 

 eyes that staid and demure parlor, with its tall 

 looking-glasses, its marbled wall-paper, and its 

 solemn, mahogany furniture, was princely mag- 

 nificence. To all intents it far outshone the 

 wealth of Ormus and of Ind. 



But the Girl was there — not always at his side, 

 but always responsive. Even if she sat, for the 

 moment, at the farther end of the room, under 



