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The young sailor, recovering in a few minutes, lent a hand. Jack knew him the instant he heard his voice, but took no notice of him, for it was a stern matter of life or death with them all just then.

When Jack and the captain stood at last awaiting their turn, and watching the last of the crew being dragged over the boiling surf, our hero turned suddenly, and, grasping the young sailor’s hand with the grip of a vice, said, “God bless you, Natty Grove!”

Nat gazed as if he had been stunned. “Can it be?” he exclaimed. “We had thought you dead years ago!”

“Thank God, I’m not only alive but hearty. Here comes the life-buoy. Your turn next. But one word before–old Nell; and–Nellie?”

“Both well, and living with your mother–“

“My–” Jack could not speak, a tremendous shock seemed to rend his heart. Young Grove felt that he had been too precipitate.

“Your mother is alive, Jack, and–“

He stopped, for the captain said quickly, “Now, then, get in. No time to lose.”

But Jack could not get in. If he had not been a strong man he must have fallen on the deck. As it was, he felt stunned and helpless.

“Here, captain,” cried Nat Grove, leaping into the life-buoy, “lift him into my arms. The ropes are strong enough for both.”

Scarce knowing what he did, Jack allowed himself to be half-lifted into the buoy, in which his old friend held him fast. A few minutes more, and they were dragged safely to land and the ringing cheers and congratulations of the assembled multitude. The captain came last, so that, when the ship finally went to pieces, not a human life was lost– even the ship’s cat was among the number of the saved, the captain having carried it ashore in his arms.

Now, there are some scenes in this life which will not bear description in detail. Such was the meeting of our hero with his long-lost mother. We refrain from lifting the curtain here. But there is no reason why we should not re-introduce the joyful and grateful pair at a later period of that same eventful day, when, seated together by the bedside of old Nell, they recounted their experiences–yes, the same old woman, but thinner and wrinkleder, and smaller in every way; and the same bed, as far as appearance went, though softer and cosier, and bigger in all ways. On the other side of the bed sat the manly form of Natty Grove. But who is that fair girl with the curling golden hair, whose face exhibits one continuous blush, and whose entire body, soul and spirit is apparently enchained by an insignificant piece of needlework? Can that be Nellie Grove, whom we last saw with her eyes shut and her mouth open–howling? Yes, it is she, and–but let Mrs Matterby explain.

“Now, Jack,” said that lady in a firm tone, “it’s of no use your asking question after question of every one in this way, and not even waiting for answers, and everybody speaking at once–“

“Excuse me, dearest mother, Miss Nellie Grove has not yet spoken at all.”

“Miss Nellie, indeed! Times are changed,”–murmured Natty, with a look of surprise.

“Her not speaking proves her the wisest of us all,” resumed the widow, looking at Old Nell, who with tremulous head nodded violent approval. You must know, old Nell had become as deaf as a post, and, being incapable of understanding anything, she gratified her natural amiability by approving of everything–at least everything that was uttered by speakers with a visible smile. When they spoke with gravity, old Nell shook her tremulous head, and put on a look of alarmingly solemn sympathy. On the present occasion, however, the antique old thing seemed to have been affected with some absolutely new, and evidently quaint, ideas, for she laughed frequently and immoderately, especially when she gazed hard at Jack Matterby after having looked long at Nellie Grove!