I remember this, but little more.
As the days went by my first grief subsided, and in its place grew up a want which I have experienced at every step in life from boyhood to manhood.

Often, even now, after all these years, when I see a lad of twelve or fourteen walking by his father's side, and glancing merrily up at his face, I turn and look after them, and am conscious that I have missed companionship most sweet and sacred.
I shall not dwell on this portion of my story.

There were many tranquil, pleasant hours in store for me at that period, and I prefer to turn to them.
One evening the Captain came smiling into the sitting-room with an open letter in his hand.

My mother had arrived at New York, and would be with us the next day.

For the first time in weeks--years, it seemed to me--something of the old cheerfulness mingled with our conversation round the evening lamp.