The captain of the whale ship very kindly took the young voyagers to his own house until their affairs were settled up.  He had dealt fairly and justly by them in all things, and both were grateful to him for the interest he had manifested in their welfare.

“What are you going to do now, Noddy?” asked Mollie, after the instruments had been sold and the proceeds paid over to them.

“I’m going to Woodville, now, to face the music,” replied Noddy.  “I suppose they will take me to the court-house; but I have made up my mind to submit to the penalty, whatever it may be, for setting the boat-house afire.”

“Fanny has told all about it before this time, you may be certain,” added Mollie, to whom he had related the story of the fire.

“I hope she has not; for I think I am the guilty one.  She wouldn’t have set the fire if it hadn’t been for me.  I am going to stand right up to it, and take the consequences, even if they send me to prison; but I hope they won’t do that.”

“I’m sure they won’t.  But, Noddy, suppose Miss Fanny has not told the truth yet.  Will you still deceive your kind friends?  You told me you had been made over new since you left Woodville, and I know you have.  You said you meant to live a good life, and not lie, or steal, or get angry, or do anything that is bad.”

“Well, I mean so, Mollie.  I intend to stick to it.  They won’t know anything about that.  They won’t believe anything I say.”

“They must believe you.  I’ll go with you, Noddy!” exclaimed she, smiling at the happy thought.  “I will tell them all about you.”

“That will be jolly; and the sooner we go the better.”

Their good friend the captain found a gentleman who was going to New York, and they accompanied him, though Noddy felt abundantly able to take care of himself and his fair charge.  They arrived the next morning, and took an early train for Woodville.

Noddy conducted Mollie down the road to the lawn in front of the house.  His heart bounded with emotion as he once more beheld the familiar scenes of the past.  As he walked along he pointed out to his interested companion the various objects which were endeared to him by former associations.  He talked because he could not help it; for he was so agitated he did not know whether he was on his head or his heels.  He heard a step on one of the side paths.  He turned to see who it was, and Bertha Grant rushed towards him.

“Why, Noddy!  It that you?” cried she, grasping him with both hands.  “I am so glad to see you!”

“You’d better believe I’m glad to see you again,” said he, trying to keep from crying.

The poor fellow actually broke down, he was so much affected by the meeting.

“I didn’t expect to see you again for years, after the letter you wrote me.”

“Been cast away, Miss Bertha, and lived two months on an island where nobody lived,” blubbered Noddy.

“Who is this little girl with you?  Is this Mollie, of whom you spoke in your letter?”

“Yes, Miss Bertha, that’s Mollie; and she is the best girl in the world, except yourself.”

“I’m very glad to see you, Mollie,” said Bertha, taking her hand, and giving her a kind reception.  “Now, come into the house.”

Bertha, finding Noddy so completely overcome by his emotions, refrained from asking him any more questions, though she was anxious to hear the sad story of the shipwreck.  Mr. Grant had not yet gone to the city, and he received the returned exiles as though they had been his own children.

“I’ve come back, Mr. Grant, to settle up old affairs, and you can send me to the court-house or the prison now.  I did wrong, and I am willing to suffer for it.”

“I have told them all about it, Noddy,” interrupted Miss Fanny, blushing.  “I couldn’t stand it after you went away.”

“It was my fault,” said Noddy.  “I said so then, and I say so now.”

“We won’t say anything about that until after breakfast.  We are very glad you have come back; and we don’t care about thinking of anything else, at present,” said Mr. Grant.

Breakfast was provided for the wanderer and his friend, and Mollie was soon made quite at home by the kind attentions of Bertha and Fanny.  When the meal was ended, Noddy insisted upon “settling up old affairs,” as he called it.  He declared that the blame ought to rest on him, and he was willing to suffer.  Mr. Grant said that he was satisfied.  Fanny was to blame, and she had already been severely punished for her fault.

“You will not send poor Noddy to prison ­will you?” interposed Mollie.  “He is a good boy now.  He saved my life, and took care of me for months.  You will find that he is not the same Noddy, he used to be.  He is made over new.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” replied Mr. Grant.  “But Noddy, did you really think I intended to send you to jail?”

“Yes, sir; what was the constable after me for, if not for that?”

“It’s a mistake, and I told you so in Albany.  Didn’t I say you would be a rich man?”

“You did, sir; but I thought that was only to catch me.  All of them said something of that sort.  I knew I couldn’t be a rich man, because my father never had a cent to leave me.  That’s what they told me.”

“But you had an uncle.”

“Never heard of him,” replied Noddy, bewildered at the prospect before him.

“Your father’s only brother died in California more than a year ago.  He had no family; but an honest man who went with him knew where he came from; and Squire Wriggs has hunted up all the evidence, which fully proves that all your uncle’s property, in the absence of other heirs, belongs to you.  He left over thirty thousand dollars, and it is all yours.”

“Dear me!” exclaimed Noddy, utterly confounded by this intelligence.

“This sum, judiciously invested, will produce at least fifty thousand when you are of age.  I have been appointed your guardian.”

“I don’t think I’m Noddy Newman after this,” added the heir, in breathless excitement.

“I know you are not,” added Bertha, laughing.  “Your real name is Ogden Newman.”

“How are you, Ogden?” said Noddy, amused at his new name.

“I suppose Noddy came from Ogden,” said Mr. Grant.

“If that’s what’s the matter, I don’t see what you wanted to take me to court for.”

“As you have come to years of discretion, you might have had the privilege of naming your own guardian; and we were going to take you to the court for that purpose.  As you were not here to speak for yourself, I was appointed.  If you are not satisfied, the proceedings can be reviewed.”

“I’m satisfied first rate,” laughed Noddy.  “But you said something about sending me off.”

“My plan was to send you to the Tunbrook Military Institute, where Richard is, and make a man of you.”

“I should like that ­perhaps.”

“You gave me a great deal of trouble to find you; and I did not succeed, after all,” added Mr. Grant.

“I didn’t know what you was after.  If I had, I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry.  But I guess it was all for the best.  I’ve been at work, Miss Bertha, since I went away,” said Noddy, turning to his teacher and friend.

“Did you win?”

“I rather think I did,” replied he, depositing his twelve hundred dollars on the table.  “That’s rather better than being a tinker, I reckon, Miss Bertha.”

“O, if you had seen him work.  He did things which a great man could not have done,” said Mollie, with enthusiasm.  “And he’s real good, too.  He’ll never do anything wrong again.”

“We must hear all about it now, Ogden,” continued Mr. Grant.

“Who?”

“Ogden; that’s your name now.”

Between Noddy and Mollie the story was told; and there was hardly a dry eye in the room when the parts relating to the yellow fever and the funeral of Captain McClintock were narrated.  Noddy told the burden of the story; but he was occasionally interrupted by Mollie, who wanted to tell how her friend watched over her and her father when they were sick with the fever, and what kindness and consideration he had used in procuring and burying the remains of her father.  Noddy only told facts; she supplied what she regarded as very important omissions.

When the narrative was finished, Mr. Grant, and Bertha were willing to believe that Noddy had been made over new; that he had worked, morally as well as physically, and won, besides the treasure on the table, good principles enough to save him from the errors which formerly beset him; had won a child’s faith in God, and a man’s confidence in himself.  The whole family were deeply interested in Mollie; they pitied and loved her; and as she had no near relatives, they insisted upon her remaining at Woodville.

“This is your money, Ogden, and I suppose I am to invest it with the rest of your property,” said Mr. Grant.

“No, sir;” replied Noddy, promptly.  “You know how I got that money, and I don’t think it belongs to me.  Besides, I’m rich, and don’t want it.  Mollie must have every dollar of it.”

“Bravo, Noddy,” exclaimed Mr. Grant.  “I approve of that with all my heart.”

“Why, no, Noddy.  You earned it all,” said Mollie.  “One hundred dollars of it was yours before the wreck.”

“I don’t care for that.  Mr. Grant shall take care of the whole of it for you, or you may take it, as you please.”

Mollie was in the minority, and she had to yield the point; and Mr. Grant was instructed to invest all she had, being the entire net proceeds of what was saved from the wreck.

After the story had been told, all the young people took a walk on the estate, during which Noddy saw Ben and the rest of the servants.  The old man was delighted to meet him again, and the others were hardly less rejoiced.  The boat-house had been rebuilt.  It was winter, and every craft belonging to the establishment was housed.

In the spring, Noddy, or Ogden, as he was now called, was sent to the Tunbrook Institute; while Bertha found a faithful pupil, and Fanny a devoted friend, in Mollie.

Three months at Woodville convinced Mr. Grant and Bertha that the change in Noddy was radical and permanent.  Though not now required to work, he was constantly employed in some useful occupation.  He was no longer an idler and a vagabond, but one of the most industrious, useful, and reliable persons on the estate.

He did not work with his hands only.  There was a work for the mind and the heart to do, and he labored as perseveringly and as successfully in this field as in the other.  At Tunbrook he was a hard student, and graduated with the highest intellectual honors.  From there he went to college.

The influence of those scenes when the yellow fever was raging around him, when the stormy ocean threatened to devour him, and perhaps more than all others, when he stood at the open, grave of Captain McClintock, was never obliterated from his mind.  They colored his subsequent existence; and when he came to choose a profession, he selected that of a minister of the gospel.

The Rev. Ogden Newman is not, and never will be, a brilliant preacher; but he is a faithful and devoted “shepherd of the sheep.”  The humble parish over whose moral and spiritual welfare he presides is not more rejoiced and comforted by his own ministrations than by the loving words and the pure example of the gentle being who now walks hand in hand with him in the journey of life, cheered by his presence and upheld by his strong arm, as she was in the days of the storm and the pestilence.  Mollie McClintock is Mrs. Ogden Newman; and as together they work, together they shall win.