affirmed.

"Really?"

"An absolute fact. For months I dared not board the Arabella, my sea yacht, for fear of a return of my old malady; but after you deserted me and came to this—this artificial, dreary, bewildering—"

"Never mind insulting my birthplace, sir!"

"Oh! were you born here, Patsy? Then I'll give the town credit. So, after you deserted me at Los Angeles—"

"You still had Mrs. Montrose and her nieces, Maud and Flo Stanton."

"I know, and I love them all. But they became so tremendously busy that I scarcely saw them, and finally I began to feel lonely. Those Stanton girls are chock full of business energy and they hadn't the time to devote to me that you people did. So I stood on the shore and looked at the Arabella until I mustered up courage to go aboard. Surviving that, I made Captain Carg steam slowly along the coast for a few miles. Nothing dreadful happened. So I made a day's voyage, and still ate my three squares a day. That was encouraging."

"I knew all the time it wasn't the voyage that wrecked your stomach," said Patsy confidently.

"What was it, then?"

"Ptomaine poisoning, or something like that."

"Well, anyhow, I found I could stand ocean travel again, so I determined on a voyage. The Panama Canal was just opened and I passed through it, came up the Atlantic coast, and—the Arabella is at this moment safely anchored in the North River!"

"And how do you feel?" inquired Uncle John.

"Glorious—magnificent! The trip has sealed my recovery for good."

"But why didn't you go home, to your Island of Sangoa?" asked Beth.

He looked at her reproachfully.

"You were not there, Beth; nor was Patsy, or Uncle John. On the other hand, there is no one in Sangoa who cares a rap whether I come home or not. I'm the last of the Joneses of Sangoa, and while it is still my island and the entire population is in my employ, the life there flows on just as smoothly without me as if I were present."

"But 

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