And after all, it seemed to make little difference at which house they stayed, for they were in and out of both all day long; and Mrs.Ashe threw her doors open to the Carrs and wanted some or all of them for every meal, so that except for the name of the thing, it was almost as satisfactory to have Katy over the way as occupying her old quarters.
The fortnight sped only too rapidly.

Ned departed, and Katy settled herself in the familiar corner to wait till he should come back again.
Navy wives have to learn the hard lesson of patience in the long separations entailed by their husbands' profession.

Katy missed Ned sorely, but she was too unselfish to mope, or to let the others know how hard to bear his loss seemed to her.

She never told any one how she lay awake in stormy nights, or when the wind blew,--and it seemed to blow oftener than usual that winter,--imagining the frigate in a gale, and whispering little prayers for Ned's safety.

Then her good sense would come back, and remind her that wind in Burnet did not necessarily mean wind in Shanghai or Yokohama or wherever the "Natchitoches" might be; and she would put herself to sleep with the repetition of that lovely verse of Keble's "Evening Hymn," left out in most of the collections, but which was particularly dear to her:-- "Thou Ruler of the light and dark, Guide through the tempest Thine own Ark; Amid the howling, wintry sea, We are in port if we have Thee." So the winter passed, and the spring; and another summer came and went, with little change to the quiet Burnet household, and Katy's brief life with her husband began to seem dreamy and unreal, it lay so far behind.
And then, with the beginning of the second winter came a new anxiety.
Phil, as we said in the last chapter, had grown too fast to be very strong, and was the most delicate of the family in looks and health, though full of spirit and fun.