"Like Bayard he was without fear and he
died without reproach."
Alice would not abandon hope. She racked her brain for possibilities
and probabilities. Perhaps there had been another boat in which her
husband and the Captain escaped. They might have been discovered and
rescued by some vessel bound to America, or, perhaps, some faraway
foreign country. He would let them know as soon as he reached land.
Aunt Ella, though naturally optimistic, did not, in her own heart,
share Alice's hopeful anticipations. Perhaps Florence's somewhat
extravagant account of the collision and the events which followed it
led her to form the opinion that her nephew's escape from death was
impossible.
Hope takes good root, but it is a flower that, too often, has no
blossom. A month passed--two--three--four--five--six--and then
despair filled the young wife's heart. She could bear up no longer,
and Dr. Parshefield made frequent visits.
Aunt Ella pressed the fatherless infant to her breast.
"What shall you name him, Alice?"
"There can be but one name for him. God sent us two little girls, but
took them back again. We both wished for a son, and Heaven has sent
one, but has taken the father from us."
"And you will name him--"
"Quincy Adams Sawyer, Junior," was the answer. "It is his
birthright."
"But," said Aunt Ella, "they never add Junior to a boy's name unless
his father is living.
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