"No, little one; not necessarily. No sort of pain or suffering can be pleasing to God; we know it is not; yet sin has made it necessary, and He often sends it."
"Don't He always send it?"
"Why no. Some sorts people bring on themselves by their own folly and perverseness; and some sorts people work on others by their own wicked self-will. God does not cause that, though He will overrule it to do what He wants done."
"Uncle Ned, do you think we shall ever have to use our ships of war again?"
"We are using them all the time. We send them to this place and that place to protect our own people, and their merchant vessels and their commerce, from interference and injury."
"No, but I mean, in fighting. Do you think we shall ever have to send them to fight again?"
"Probably."
"To fight whom?"
"That I don't know."
"Then why do you say 'probably'?"
"Because human nature remains what it was, and will no doubt do the same work in the future that it has done from the beginning."
"Why is fighting part of that work, Uncle Ned?"
"Ah, why! Greed, which wants what is the right of others; pride, which resents even a fancied interference with its own; anger, which cries for revenge; these are the reasons."
Dolly looked very deeply serious.
"Why do you care so much about it, Dolly?" her aunt asked at length, after a meditative pause of several minutes.
"I would be sorry to have the 'Achilles' go into battle," said Dolly; and a perceptible slight shudder passed over her shoulders.
"Is the 'Achilles' so much to you, just because you have seen her?"
"No--" said Dolly thoughtfully; "it isn't the _ship;_ it's the people."
"Oh!--But what do you know of the people?"
"I saw a good many of them, Aunt Harry."
Politic Dolly! She had really seen only one. Yet she had no idea of being politic; and why she did not say whom she had seen, and what reason she had for being interested in him, I cannot tell you.
From that time Dolly's reading took a new turn. She sought out in the bookcases everything that related to sailors and ships, and especially naval warfare, and simply devoured it. The little Life of Lord Nelson, by Southey, in two small calf-bound volumes, became her darling book.
Better than any novel, for it was _true_, and equal to any novel for its varied, picturesque, passionate, stirring life story. Dolly read it, till she could have given you at any time an accurate and detailed account of any one of Nelson's great battles; and more than that, she studied the geography of the lands and waters thereby concerned, and where possible the topography also. I suppose the "Achilles" stood for a model of all the ships in which successively the great commander hoisted his flag; and if the hero himself did not take the form and features of a certain American midshipman, it was probably because there was a likeness of the subject of the Memoir opposite to the title-page; and the rather plain, rather melancholy, rather feeble traits of the English naval captain, could by no effort of imagination be confounded with the quiet strength and gentle manliness which Dolly had found in the straight brows and keen blue eyes and kindly smile of her midshipman friend. That would not do. Nelson was not like him, nor he like Nelson; but Dolly had little doubt but he would do as much, if he had occasion. In that faith she read on; and made every action lively with the vision of those keen-sighted blue eyes and firm sweet mouth in the midst of the smoke of battle and the confusion of orders given and received. How often the Life of Nelson was read, I dare not say; nor with what renewed eagerness the Marine Dictionary and its plates of ships and cannon were studied and searched. From that, Dolly's attention was extended to other books which told of the sea and of life upon it, even though the life were not war-like. Captain Cook's voyages came in for a large amount of favour; and Cooper's "Afloat and Ashore," which happened about this time to fall into Dolly's hands, was devoured with a hunger which grew on what it fed. Nobody knew; she had ceased to talk on naval subjects; and it was so common a thing for Dolly to be swallowed up in some book or other whenever she was at home, that Mrs. Eberstein's curiosity was not excited.
Meanwhile school days and school work went on, and week succeeded week, and everybody but Dolly had forgotten all about the "Achilles;" when one day a small package was brought to the door and handed in "For Miss Dolly Copley." It was a Saturday afternoon. Dolly and her aunt were sitting comfortably together in Mrs. Eberstein's workroom upstairs, and Mr. Eberstein was there too at his secretary.
"For me?" said Dolly, when the servant brought the package in. "It's a box! Aunt Harry, what can it be?"
"Open and see, Dolly."
Which Dolly did with an odd mixture of haste and deliberation which amused Mrs. Eberstein. She tore off nothing, and she cut nothing; patiently knots were untied and papers unfolded, though Dolly's fingers trembled with excitement. Papers taken off showed a rather small pasteboard box; and the box being opened revealed coil upon coil, nicely wound up, of a beautifully wrought chain. It might be a watch chain; but Dolly possessed no watch.
"What is it, Aunt Harry?" she said in wondering pleasure as the coils of the pretty woven work fell over her hand.
"It looks like a watch chain, Dolly. What is it made of?"
Mrs. Eberstein inspected the work closely and could not determine.
"But who could send me a watch chain?" said Dolly.
"Somebody; for here is your name very plainly on the cover and on the paper."
"The boy is waiting for an answer, miss."
"Answer? To what? I don't know whom to answer," said Dolly.
"There's a note, miss."
"A note? where?--Oh, here _is_ a note, Aunt Harry, in the bottom of the box. I did not see it."
"From whom, Dolly?"
Dolly did not answer. She had unfolded the note, and now her whole face was wrinkling up with pleasure or fun; she did not hear or heed her aunt's question. Mrs. Eberstein marked how her colour rose and her smile grew sparkling; and she watched with not a little curiosity and some impatience till Dolly should speak. The little girl looked up at last with a face all dimples.
"O Aunt Harry! it's my piece of rope."
"Your _piece of rope_, my dear?"
"Yes; I wanted a piece of rope; and this is it."
"That is not a piece of rope."
"Yes, it is; it is made of it. I could not think what it was made of; and now I see. Isn't it beautifully made? He has picked a piece of rope to pieces, and woven this chain of the threads; isn't it beautiful? And how kind! How kind he is."
"_Who_, Dolly? Who has done it?"
"Oh, the midshipman, Aunt Harry."
"_The_ midshipman. What one? You didn't say anything about a midshipman."
"I saw him, though, and he said he would send me a piece of rope. I wanted a piece, Aunt Harry, to remember the ship by; and I could not break a bit off, though I tried; then he saw me trying, and it was just time to go, and he said he would get it and send it to me. I thought he had forgotten all about it; but here it is! I am so glad."
"My dear, do you call that a piece of rope?"
"Why, yes, Aunt Harry; it is woven out of a piece of rope. He has picked the rope apart and made this chain of the threads. I think he is very clever."
"_Who_, my dear? Who has done it, Dolly?"
"The midshipman, Aunt Harry."