Although a transcendent interest in grown-up people is one of the traits that make it worth while to tell this story of a summer in the life of little Marie-Celeste, yet she was none the less a friend of children of her own age, or over it or under it for that matter, provided they seemed to stand in want of a friend. Otherwise, it must be confessed, she concerned herself very little about them. Born with a positive genius for spending and being spent, the claims and opportunities of ordinary child friendships seemed hardly to give her enough breathing room; and so it chanced that she passed very little time with the faultlessly dressed and somewhat overcared-for children of the steamer, who did not seem to need her, and a great deal of time with Chris and Mr. Belden, who did. Be it said to the credit of the latter gentleman that, after that first conversation with Marie-Celeste, he was far more careful in the way he talked with her, and Mr. Harris was quick to discover the fact, or the new friendship would have ended as unexpectedly for Mr. Belden as it had begun. There was about Marie-Celeste at all times the same implicit childish confidence that unnerved the bold robber in “Editha's Burglar,” and yet she herself was always quick to discover when this same confidence was being taken advantage of, and when she would best fly to cover. More than once she had shown in her contact with people an inerrancy of intuition (if my youngest readers will excuse two such big words) that had greatly gratified her father and mother, who had a theory of their own about the education of children, and gave her rather more rein than some would consider either safe or advisable. At the same time, every movement of the little daughter was carefully watched and every project followed up by a certain paternal relative, and never more so than during those days of steamer life, when so many hours were passed with the new friend and the postman. When with Chris it was forward clear to the bow to lean over the rail and see the magnificent prow cut the water; or way to the stern, to watch the far-shining train, the screws churned into white foam behind them; or an hour 'midships, where the ever-varying amusements with which the steerage passengers beguile the weary hours can be looked down upon from the saloon deck of either first or second cabin. Then, at five every clear day, afternoon tea with the captain, for which they had a standing invitation, and by means of which both she and Chris came to be on terms of wonderful intimacy with that august officer, so that they joked over the rare souchong and delicious little toasted cakes (the secret of whose making was kept close-guarded by the steward) with a familiarity that, to themselves at least, never ceased to be a wonder. With Mr. Belden everything was different. It was generally after an hour or so of prowling about with Chris, and when she was a little tired and in the mood for a quiet talk, that she would seek him out; and, as a rule, she would find him comfortably tucked up in a steamer rug, with another awaiting her coming on a chair beside him. Then Chris, after carefully tucking her in, in most approved fashion, would be off, with a touch of his hat, and with profound gratitude in his heart for the strength of limb and muscle that made him regard Mr. Belden's inactive life in the light of a sorry burden. That the latter often so regarded himself was evident in the ever-deepening lines of weariness that seamed his pale and handsome face.