_Kate._ Here I am, just as good as new. Where’s my preserver? Now, don’t raise your hand: I’m not going to say one word in praise of your conduct. Man was born to wait on woman; and so, sir, you will please follow me to the rock to find my handkerchief, and see that I don’t take another bath. Come along. (_Exit, C._)
_Sept._ Ay! Ay! I’ll watch you: never fear. (_Exit, C._)
_John._ Mother Gale, it strikes me forcibly that if we are to have any dinner to-day--
_Mrs. Gale._ Heavens and airth! I forgot all about it. You, March, run and split me some wood; and you, Kitty, peel me some pertaters; and you, John--dear, dear, what a confusion! (_Exit, L._)
_Kitty._ Dear me! If there’s any thing I hate, it’s peeling taters.
_March._ Well, you jest wait until I get my wood, and I’ll fix ’em for you. Come along. (_Exit KITTY and MARCH, L._)
_John._ It strikes me, that March has a mighty fancy for our Kitty. Who knows but what there’ll be a wedding here some of these days? I say, Mr. Raymond, you’ll excuse me, but I must look arter my boat. (_Exit, C._)
_Ray._ Oh, never mind me! Twenty-three years ago! What revelation can fate have in store for me? Twenty-three years ago, I was the possessor of a young and beautiful wife. Travelling in France, I was hastily summoned to America, and obliged to leave my wife, with her infant child, to follow me: she took passage in the ship Diana, in the summer of ’31: the vessel was never more heard of. Every inquiry was made, but no intelligence could be obtained. What was also remarkable, the ship Gladiator, which sailed from Havre on the same day, met a like mysterious fate. These boys found on the sands,--can they be connected with this history? Strange, strange, I never heard of this circumstance! But twenty years ago communication was more difficult than now; and that dreadful winter the fearful losses by storm were never known. New ties,--another wife,--she, too, gone,--a daughter loving and beloved,--have stilled the longings to gain tidings of the fate of the lost one: but this strange history awakens a desire to learn more. I have watched them attentively, but can see no resemblance to my lost wife in either of their faces. Yet something tells me that this strange meeting--this desolate place--the wrecks--the children--cannot be accidental. I will be calm, and watch and wait: for I believe that in one of these boys I shall find my lost son. (_Exit, R._) (_Enter MARCH, C., with an armful of wood, in time to hear the last words. He drops the wood._)