Dolly gave him her hand again and let him help her till they got on deck. There they went roaming towards the fore part of the vessel, looking at everything by the way; Dolly asking the names and the meaning of things, and receiving explanations, especially regarding the sails and rigging and steering of the ship. She was even shown where the sailors made their home in the forecastle. As they were returning aft, Dolly stopped by a coil of rope on deck and began pulling at an end of it. Her companion inquired what she wanted?

"I would like a little piece," said Dolly; "if I could get it."

"A piece of rope?"

"Yes; – just a little bit; but it is very strong; it won't break."

She was tugging at a loose strand.

"How large a bit do you want?"

"Oh, just a little piece," said Dolly. "I wanted just a little piece to keep – but it's no matter. I wanted to keep it."

"A keepsake?" said the young man. "To remember us by? They are breaking up," – he added immediately, casting his glance aft, where a stir and a gathering and a movement on deck in front of the captain's cabin could now be seen, and the sound of voices came fresh along the breeze. "They are going – there is no time now. I will send you a piece, if you will tell me where I can send it. Where do you live?"

"Oh, will you? Oh, thank you!" said Dolly, and her face lifted confidingly to the young officer grew sunny with pleasure. "I live at Mrs. Delancy's school; – but no, I don't! I don't live there. My home is at Uncle Edward's – Mr. Edward Eberstein – in Walnut Street."

"What number?" said the midshipman, using his pencil again on the much scribbled piece of paper; and Dolly told him.

"And whom shall I send the – the piece of rope, to?"

"Oh, yes! – Dolly Copley. That is my name. Good bye, I must go."

"Dolly Copley. You shall have it," said he, giving the little hand she held out to him a right sailorly grasp. And Dolly ran away. In the bustle and anxiety of getting lowered into the little boat again she forgot him and everything else; however, so soon as she was safely seated and just as the men were ordered to "give way," she looked up at the great ship they were leaving; and there, just above her, leaning on the guards and looking over and down at her, she saw her midshipman friend. Dolly saw nothing else till his face was too small in the distance to be any longer recognised.

CHAPTER V
THE PIECE OF ROPE

It was Saturday and holiday, and Dolly went home to her aunt's. There her aunt and uncle, as was natural, expected a long story of the morning's experience. And Dolly one would think might have given it; matter for the detail was not wanting; yet she seemed to have little to tell. On the other hand, she had a great deal to ask. She wanted to know why people could not do all their fighting on land; why ships of war were necessary; Mr. Eberstein tried to explain that there might be great and needful advantages attendant upon the use of them. Then Dolly begged for instances. Had we, Americans, ever fought at sea? Mr. Eberstein answered that, and gave her details of facts, while Mrs. Eberstein sat by silent and watched Dolly's serious, meditative face.

"I should think," said Dolly, "that when there is a fight, a ship of war would be a very dreadful place."

"There is no doubt of that, my little girl," said Mr. Eberstein. "Take the noise, and the smoke, the packed condition of one of those gun decks, and the every now and then coming in of a round shot, crashing through planks and timbers, splintering what comes in its way, and stretching half a dozen men at once, more or less, on the floor in dead and wounded, – I think it must be as good a likeness of the infernal regions as earth can give – in one way at least."

"In what way?" Dolly asked immediately.

"Confusion of pain and horror. Not wickedness."

"Uncle Ned, do you think God can like it?"

"No."

"Then isn't it wicked?"

"No, little one; not necessarily. No sort of pain or suffering can be pleasing to God; we know it is not; yet sin has made it necessary, and He often sends it."

"Don't He always send it?"

"Why no. Some sorts people bring on themselves by their own folly and perverseness; and some sorts people work on others by their own wicked self-will. God does not cause that, though He will overrule it to do what He wants done."

"Uncle Ned, do you think we shall ever have to use our ships of war again?"

"We are using them all the time. We send them to this place and that place to protect our own people, and their merchant vessels and their commerce, from interference and injury."

"No, but I mean, in fighting. Do you think we shall ever have to send them to fight again?"

"Probably."

"To fight whom?"

"That I don't know."

"Then why do you say 'probably'?"

"Because human nature remains what it was, and will no doubt do the same work in the future that it has done from the beginning."

"Why is fighting part of that work, Uncle Ned?"

"Ah, why! Greed, which wants what is the right of others; pride, which resents even a fancied interference with its own; anger, which cries for revenge; these are the reasons."

Dolly looked very deeply serious.

"Why do you care so much about it, Dolly?" her aunt asked at length, after a meditative pause of several minutes.

"I would be sorry to have the 'Achilles' go into battle," said Dolly; and a perceptible slight shudder passed over her shoulders.

"Is the 'Achilles' so much to you, just because you have seen her?"

"No – " said Dolly thoughtfully; "it isn't the ship; it's the people."

"Oh! – But what do you know of the people?"

"I saw a good many of them, Aunt Harry."

Politic Dolly! She had really seen only one. Yet she had no idea of being politic; and why she did not say whom she had seen, and what reason she had for being interested in him, I cannot tell you.

From that time Dolly's reading took a new turn. She sought out in the bookcases everything that related to sailors and ships, and especially naval warfare, and simply devoured it. The little Life of Lord Nelson, by Southey, in two small calf-bound volumes, became her darling book. Better than any novel, for it was true, and equal to any novel for its varied, picturesque, passionate, stirring life story. Dolly read it, till she could have given you at any time an accurate and detailed account of any one of Nelson's great battles; and more than that, she studied the geography of the lands and waters thereby concerned, and where possible the topography also. I suppose the "Achilles" stood for a model of all the ships in which successively the great commander hoisted his flag; and if the hero himself did not take the form and features of a certain American midshipman, it was probably because there was a likeness of the subject of the Memoir opposite to the title-page; and the rather plain, rather melancholy, rather feeble traits of the English naval captain, could by no effort of imagination be confounded with the quiet strength and gentle manliness which Dolly had found in the straight brows and keen blue eyes and kindly smile of her midshipman friend. That would not do. Nelson was not like him, nor he like Nelson; but Dolly had little doubt but he would do as much, if he had occasion. In that faith she read on; and made every action lively with the vision of those keen-sighted blue eyes and firm sweet mouth in the midst of the smoke of battle and the confusion of orders given and received. How often the Life of Nelson was read, I dare not say; nor with what renewed eagerness the Marine Dictionary and its plates of ships and cannon were studied and searched. From that, Dolly's attention was extended to other books which told of the sea and of life upon it, even though the life were not war-like. Captain Cook's voyages came in for a large amount of favour; and Cooper's "Afloat and Ashore," which happened about this time to fall into Dolly's hands, was devoured with a hunger which grew on what it fed. Nobody knew; she had ceased to talk on naval subjects; and it was so common a thing for Dolly to be swallowed up in some book or other whenever she was at home, that Mrs. Eberstein's curiosity was not excited.

Meanwhile school days and school work went on, and week succeeded week, and everybody but Dolly had forgotten all about the "Achilles;" when one day a small package was brought to the door and handed in "For Miss Dolly Copley." It was a Saturday afternoon. Dolly and her aunt were sitting comfortably together in Mrs. Eberstein's workroom upstairs, and Mr. Eberstein was there too at his secretary.

"For me?" said Dolly, when the servant brought the package in. "It's a box! Aunt Harry, what can it be?"

"Open and see, Dolly."

Which Dolly did with an odd mixture of haste and deliberation which amused Mrs. Eberstein. She tore off nothing, and she cut nothing; patiently knots were untied and papers unfolded, though Dolly's fingers trembled with excitement. Papers taken off showed a rather small pasteboard box; and the box being opened revealed coil upon coil, nicely wound up, of a beautifully wrought chain. It might be a watch chain; but Dolly possessed no watch.

"What is it, Aunt Harry?" she said in wondering pleasure as the coils of the pretty woven work fell over her hand.

"It looks like a watch chain, Dolly. What is it made of?"

Mrs. Eberstein inspected the work closely and could not determine.

"But who could send me a watch chain?" said Dolly.

"Somebody; for here is your name very plainly on the cover and on the paper."

"The boy is waiting for an answer, miss."

"Answer? To what? I don't know whom to answer," said Dolly.

"There's a note, miss."

"A note? where? – Oh, here is a note, Aunt Harry, in the bottom of the box. I did not see it."

"From whom, Dolly?"

Dolly did not answer. She had unfolded the note, and now her whole face was wrinkling up with pleasure or fun; she did not hear or heed her aunt's question. Mrs. Eberstein marked how her colour rose and her smile grew sparkling; and she watched with not a little curiosity and some impatience till Dolly should speak. The little girl looked up at last with a face all dimples.

"O Aunt Harry! it's my piece of rope."

"Your piece of rope, my dear?"

"Yes; I wanted a piece of rope; and this is it."

"That is not a piece of rope."

"Yes, it is; it is made of it. I could not think what it was made of; and now I see. Isn't it beautifully made? He has picked a piece of rope to pieces, and woven this chain of the threads; isn't it beautiful? And how kind! How kind he is."

"Who, Dolly? Who has done it?"

"Oh, the midshipman, Aunt Harry."

"The midshipman. What one? You didn't say anything about a midshipman."

"I saw him, though, and he said he would send me a piece of rope. I wanted a piece, Aunt Harry, to remember the ship by; and I could not break a bit off, though I tried; then he saw me trying, and it was just time to go, and he said he would get it and send it to me. I thought he had forgotten all about it; but here it is! I am so glad."

"My dear, do you call that a piece of rope?"

"Why, yes, Aunt Harry; it is woven out of a piece of rope. He has picked the rope apart and made this chain of the threads. I think he is very clever."

"Who, my dear? Who has done it, Dolly?"

"The midshipman, Aunt Harry."

"What midshipman?"

"On the 'Achilles.' I saw him that day."

"Did you see only one midshipman?"

"No; I suppose I saw a good many. I didn't notice any but this one."

"And he noticed you, I suppose?"

"Yes, a little" – said Dolly.

"Did he notice nobody beside you?"

"I don't know, Aunt Harry. Not that time, for I was alone."

"Alone! Where were all the rest, and Mrs. Delancy?"

"Eating lunch in the captain's cabin."

"Did you have no lunch?"

"I had a biscuit one of the officers gave me."

"And have you got a note there from the midshipman?"

"Yes, Aunt Harry."

"What does he say?"

Dolly unfolded the note again and looked at it with great consideration; then handed it to Mrs. Eberstein. Mrs. Eberstein read aloud.

"Ship 'Achilles,'

"Dec. 5, 18 —

"Will Miss Dolly Copley please send a word to say that she has received her piece of cable safe? I thought she would like it best perhaps in a manufactured form; and I hope she will keep it to remember the 'Achilles' by, and also

"A. CROWNINSHIELD."

"What's all that?" demanded Mr. Eberstein now from his writing-desk. Mrs. Eberstein bit her lips as she answered.

"Billet-doux."

"Aunt Harry," said Dolly now doubtfully, "must I write an answer?"

"Edward," said Mrs. Eberstein, "shall I let this child write a note to a midshipman on board the 'Achilles'? What do you think? Come and counsel me."

Mr. Eberstein left his writing, informed himself of the circumstances, read "A. Crowninshield's" note, and gave his decision.

"The 'Achilles'? Oh yes, I know Captain Barbour very well. It's all right, I guess. I think Dolly had better write an answer, certainly."

So Dolly fetched her writing materials. Her aunt looked for some appeals for advice now on her part; but Dolly made none. She bent over her paper with an earnest face, a little flushed; but it seemed she was in no uncertainty what to say or how to say it. She did not offer to show her finished note to Mrs. Eberstein; I think it did not occur to her; but in the intensity of her concentration Dolly only thought of the person she was writing to and the occasion which made her write. Certainly she would have had no objection that anybody should see what she wrote. The simple words ran as follows:

"MR. CROWNINSHIELD,

"I have got the chain, and I think it is beautiful, and I am very much obliged to you. I mean to keep it and wear it as long as I live. You are very kind.

"DOLLY COPLEY."

The note was closed and sent off; and with that Dolly dismissed the subject, so far at least as words were concerned; but Mrs. Eberstein watched her still for some time handling and examining the chain, passing it through her fingers, and regarding it with a serious face, and yet an expression in the eyes and on the lips that was almost equivalent to a smile.

"What are you going to do with it, Dolly?" Mrs. Eberstein asked at length, wishing to get into the child's thoughts.

"I'll keep it, Aunt Harry. And when I have anything to wear it with, I will wear it. When I am old enough, I mean."

"What did you do to that young fellow, to make him show you such an attention?"

"Do to him? I didn't do anything to him, Aunt Harry!"

"It was very kind of him, wasn't it?"

"Very kind. I guess he is kind," said Dolly.

"Maybe we shall see him again one of these days, and have a chance to thank him. The midshipmen get leave to come on shore now and then."

But no such chance offered. The "Achilles" sailed out of those waters, and her place in the river was empty.

CHAPTER VI
END OF SCHOOL TERM

Dolly's school life is not further of importance in this history; or no further than may serve to fill out the picture already given of herself. A few smooth and uneventful years followed that first coming to Philadelphia; not therefore unfruitful because uneventful; perhaps the very contrary. The little girl made her way among her fellow pupils and the teachers, the masters and mistresses, the studies and drills which busied them all, with a kind of sweet facility; such as is born everywhere, I suppose, of good will. Whoever got into scrapes, it was never Dolly Copley; whoever was chidden for imperfect recitations, such rebukes never fell on her; whoever might be suspected of mischief, such suspicion could not rest for a moment on the fair, frank little face and those grave brown eyes. The most unpopular mistress had a friend in Dolly; the most refractory school-girl owned to a certain influence which went forth from her; the most uncomfortable of her companions found soothing in her presence. People who are happy themselves can drop a good deal of oil on the creaking machinery around them, and love is the only manufactory where the oil is made.

With all this smooth going, it may be supposed that Dolly's progress in knowledge and accomplishments would be at least satisfactory; and it was more than that. She prospered in all she undertook. The teacher of mathematics said she had a good head for calculation; the French mistress declared nature had given her a good ear and accent; the dancing master found her agile and graceful as a young roe; the drawing master went beyond all these and averred that Miss Copley would distinguish him and herself. "She has an excellent manner of handling, madame," he said, – "and she has an eye for colour, and she will have a style that will be distinguished." Moreover, Dolly's voice was sweet and touching, and promised to be very effective.

So things went on at school; and at home each day bound faster the loving ties which united her with her kind protectors and relations. Every week grew and deepened the pleasure of the intercourse they held together. Those were happy years for all parties. Dolly had become rather more talkative, without being less of a bookworm. Vacations were sometimes spent with her mother and father, though not always, as the latter were sometimes travelling. Dolly missed nothing; Mrs. Eberstein's house had come to be a second home.

All this while the "Achilles" had never been heard of again in the neighbourhood of Philadelphia. Neither, though Dolly I am bound to say searched faithfully all the lists of ship's officers which were reported in any American ports, did she ever so much as see the name of A. Crowninshield. She always looked for it, wherever a chance of finding it might be; she never found it.

Such was the course of things, until Dolly had reached her seventeenth year and was half through it. Then, in the spring, long before school term ended, came a sudden summons for her. Mr. Copley had received the appointment of a consulship in London; he and his family were about to transfer themselves immediately to this new sphere of activity, and Dolly of course must go along. Her books were hastily fetched from school, her clothes packed up; and Dolly and her kind friends in Walnut Street sat together the last evening in a very subdued frame of mind.

"I don't see what your father wanted of a consulship, or anything else that would take him out of his country!" Mr. Eberstein uttered his rather grumbling complaint. "He has enough to satisfy a man without that."

"But what papa likes is precisely something to take him out of the country. He likes change" – said Dolly sorrowfully.

"He won't have much change as American Consul in London," Mr. Eberstein returned. "Business will pin him pretty close."

"I suppose it will be a change at first," said Dolly; "and then, when he gets tired of it, he will give it up, and take something else."

"And you, little Dolly, you are accordingly to be shoved out into the great, great world, long before you are ready for it."

"Is the world any bigger over there than it is on this side?" said Dolly, with a gleam of fun.

"Well, yes," said Mr. Eberstein. "Most people think so. And London is a good deal bigger than Philadelphia."

"The world is very much alike all over," remarked Mrs. Eberstein; "in one place a little more fascinating and dangerous, in another a little less."

"Will it be more or less, over there, for me, Aunt Harry?"

"It would be 'more' for you anywhere, Dolly, soon. Why you are between sixteen and seventeen; almost a woman!" Mrs. Eberstein said with a sigh.

"No, not yet, Aunt Harry. I'll be a girl yet awhile. I can be that in England, can't I, as well as here?"

"Better," said Mr. Eberstein.

"But the world, nevertheless, is a little bigger out there, Ned," his wife added.

"In what way, Aunt Harry? And what do you mean by the 'world' anyhow?"

"I mean what the Lord was speaking of, when He said to His disciples, 'If ye were of the world, the world would love his own; but because ye are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you.'"

"That means, bad people?"

"Some of them are by no means bad people. Some of them are delightful people."

"Then I do not quite understand, Aunt Harry. I thought it meant not only bad people, but gay people; pleasure lovers."

"Aren't you a lover of pleasure, Dolly?"

"Oh yes. But, Aunt Harry," Dolly said seriously, "I am not a 'lover of pleasure more than a lover of God.'"

"No, thanks to His goodness! However, Dolly, people may be just as worldly without seeking pleasures at all. It isn't that."

"What is it, then?"

"I don't know how to put it. Ned, can you?"

"Why, Hal," said Mr. Eberstein pondering, "it comes to about this, I reckon. There are just two kingdoms in the world, upon earth I mean."

"Yes. Well? I know there are two kingdoms, and no neutral ground. But what is the dividing line? That is what we want to know."

"If there is no neutral ground, it follows that the border line of one kingdom is the border line of the other. To go out of one, is to go into the other."

"Well? Yes. That's plain."

"Then it is simple enough. What belongs to Christ, or what is done for Him or in His service, belongs to His kingdom. Of course, what is not Christ's, nor is done for Him, nor in His service, belongs to the world."

There was a silence here of some duration; and then Dolly exclaimed, "I see it. I shall know now."

"What, Dolly?"

"How to do, Aunt Harry."

"How to do what?"

"Everything. I was thinking particularly just then" – Dolly hesitated.

"Yes, of what?"

"Of dressing myself."

"Dressing yourself, you chicken?"

"Yes, Aunt Harry. I see it. If I do not dress for Christ, I do it for the world."

"Don't go into another extreme now, Dolly."

"No, Aunt Harry. I cannot be wrong, can I, if I do it for Christ?"

"I wonder how many girls of sixteen in the country have such a thought? And I wonder, how long will you be able to keep it, Dolly?"

"Why not, Aunt Harry?"

"O child! because you have got to meet the world."

"What will the world do to me?" Dolly asked, half laughing in her simple ignorance.

"When I think what it will do to you, Dolly, I am ready to break my heart. It will tempt you, child. It will tempt you with beauty, and with pleasant things; pleasant things that look so harmless! and it will seek to persuade you with sweet voices and with voices of authority; and it will show you everybody going one way, and that not your way."

"But I will follow Christ, Aunt Hal."

"Then you will have to bear reproach."

"I would rather bear the world's reproach, than His."

"If you don't get over-persuaded, child, or deafened with the voices!"

"She will have to do like the little girl in the fairy tale," said Mr. Eberstein; "stuff cotton in her ears. The little girl in the fairy tale was going up a hill to get something at the top – what was she going for, that was at the top of the hill?"

"I know!" cried Dolly. "I remember. She was going for three things. The Singing bird and the Golden water, and – I forget what the third thing was."

"Well, you see what that means," Mr. Eberstein went on. "She was going up the hill for the Golden water at the top; and there were ten thousand voices in her ears tempting her to look round; and if she looked, she would be turned to stone. The road was lined with stones, which had once been pilgrims. You see, Dolly? Her only way was to stop her ears."

"I see, Uncle Ned."

"What shall Dolly stop her ears with?" asked Mrs. Eberstein.

"These words will do. 'Whether ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.'"

There was little more talking, for as the evening drew on, the heaviness of the parting weighed too hard upon all hearts. The next day Dolly made the journey to Boston, and from there to her parents' house; and her childhood's days were over.