"Because," said Jan, "Mother said I must take care of Marie."

"And she said she'd find us again if she had to swim the sea,"
said Marie, feeling of her locket and smiling through her tears.

"She won't have to swim," said the lady. "We will see to that! If
she comes here, she shall go for you in a fine big ship, and so
that's all settled." She kissed their woebegone little faces.
"You are going to start to-morrow," she said. "The good captain
of the ship has promised to take care of you, so you will not be
afraid, and I know you will be good children."

It seemed like a month to Jan and Marie, but it was really only
seven days later that they stood on the deck of the good ship
Caspian, as it steamed proudly into the wonderful harbor of New
York. It was dusk, and already the lights of the city sparkled
like a sky full of stars dropped down to earth. High above the
other stars shone the great torch of "Liberty enlightening the
World." "Oh," gasped Marie, as she gazed, "New York must be as
big as heaven. Do you suppose that is an angel holding a candle
to light us in?"

Just then the captain came to find them, and a few minutes later
they walked with him down the gangplank, right into a pair of
outstretched arms. The arms belonged to Madame Dujardin, their
new mother. "I should have known them the moment I looked at
them, even if they hadn't been with the captain," she cried to
her husband, who stood smiling by her side. "Poor darlings, your
troubles are all over now! Just as soon as Captain Nichols says