"Fact," asserted Captain Warren, with a wink at his guest. "And that wa'n't the worst of it. 'Twas so dark I had to keep feelin' the buggy with my foot to be sure I was in it. Ain't that so, Mr. Graves? . . . Here! Abbie won't like to have you set lookin' at that empty plate. She's always afraid folks'll notice the gilt's wearin' off. Pass it over quick, and let me cover it with some more pie."

"Yes, and have some more tea," urged Miss Abbie. You mustn't pay attention to what he says, Mr. Graves," she went on. "Some day he'll tell the truth by accident, and then I'll know it's time to send for the doctor."

Several times the lawyer attempted to mention the business which had brought him to the Cape, and the probability of his having made a mistake. But neither host nor housekeeper would listen.

"When you've been in South Denboro as long as I have," declared the former, "you'll understand that the time to talk business is when you can't think of anything else. Wait till we get into the settin' room. Abbie, those six or eight biscuits I've ate are gettin' lonesome. I'll take another for sociability, thank you."

But, at last, when all the biscuits but one were gone, and the cake plate looked like the Desert of Sahara, the captain pushed back his chair, rose, and led the way into the next room. Miss Baker remained to clear the table.

"Set down by the fire, Mr. Graves," urged the captain. "Nothin' like burnin' wood to look hot and comf'table, is there? It don't always make you feel that way--that's why I put in hot water heat-- but for looks and sociableness you can't beat a log fire. Smoke, do you?"

"Yes. Occasionally. But, Captain Warren--"

"Here, try that. It's a cigar the Judge gave me over to Ostable. He smokes that kind reg'lar, but if you don't like it, throw it away. He ain't here to see you do it, so you won't be fined for contempt of court. I'll stick to a pipe, if you don't mind. Now we're shipshape and all taut, I cal'late. Let's see, you wanted to talk business, I believe."

"Yes, I did. But before I begin I should like to be sure you are the Elisha Warren I came from New York to interview. Is there another of that name in Denboro?"

"Um-hm. There's Warrens a-plenty all through this section of the Cape. Our family blew ashore here a hundred and fifty years ago, or such matter. My dad's name was Elisha; so was my grandfather's. Both sea cap'ns, and both dead. There's another Elisha livin' over on the shore lane."

"Indeed. Then perhaps it is he I want."

"P'raps. He's keeper of the town poorhouse. I can tell you better if you give me an idea what your business is."

"I am an attorney. And now let me ask another question, please. Have you--had you a brother in business in New York?"

"Hey?" The captain turned and looked his guest squarely in the eye. His brows drew together.

"I've got a brother in New York," he answered, slowly. "Did HE send you here?"

"Was your brother's name A. Rodgers Warren?"

"'A. Rodgers'? No. His name is Abijah Warren, and--Wait! His middle name is Rodgers, though. Did 'Bije send you to me?"

"A moment, Captain. Was your brother a broker?"

"Yes. His office is--or used to be on Broad Street. What--"

"You have not heard from him for some time?"

"Not for eighteen years. He and I didn't agree as well as we might. Maybe 'twas my fault, maybe 'twas his. I have my own ideas on that. If you're lookin' for 'Bije Warren's brother, Mr. Graves, I guess you've come to the right place. But WHAT he sent you to me for, or what he wants--for he wants somethin', or he wouldn't have sent--I don't understand."

"Why do you think he wanted something?"

"Because he's 'Bije Warren, and I was brought up with him. When we was young ones together, he went to school and I went to work. He got the frostin' on the cake, and I got the burnt part next to the pan. He went to college, and I went to sea. He . . . However, you mustn't think I find fault with him for that. I sp'iled him as much as anybody, I guess. 'Twas later on that we . . . Well, never mind that, either. What is it he wants of me, after eighteen years?"

"He wants a good deal of you, Captain Warren. Or DID want it."

"Did? Don't he want it now?"

"I don't know. Captain, I'm surprised that you haven't heard. It seems that I am the bearer of bad news. Your brother--"

"Is 'Bije DEAD?"

"He died ten days ago very suddenly. In a way it was a great shock to us all, yet we have known that his heart was weak. He realized it, too."

"So 'Bije is dead, hey?" Captain Elisha's face was very grave, and he spoke slowly. "Dead! Well, well, well!"

He paused and looked into the fire. Graves saw again that vague resemblance he had caught on the train, but had forgotten. He knew now why he noticed it. Unlike as the two brothers were, unlike in almost every way, the trace of family likeness was there. This sunburned, retired captain WAS the New York financier's elder brother. And this certainty made Mr. Graves's errand more difficult, and the cause of it more inexplicable.

Captain Elisha cleared his throat.

"Well, well!" he sighed. "So 'Bije has gone. I s'pose you think it's odd, maybe," he went on, "that I ain't more struck down by the news. In a way, I am, and, in a way, I'm mighty sorry, too. But, to speak truth, he and I have been so apart, and have had nothin' to do with each other for so long that--that, well, I've come to feel as if I didn't have a brother. And I know he felt that way. Yes, and WANTED to feel so--I know that."

"I wouldn't say that, if I were you," observed the lawyer, gently. "I think you're mistaken there."

"I ain't mistaken. Why, look here, Mr. Graves! There was a time when I'd have got down on my knees and crawled from here to New York to help 'Bije Warren. I lent him money to start in business. Later on him and I went into partnership together on a--a fool South American speculation that didn't pan out for nothin'. I didn't care for that. I took my chance same as he did, we formed a stock company all amongst ourselves, and I've got my share of the stock somewhere yet. It may come in handy if I ever want to paper the barn. But 'twa'n't business deals of that kind that parted us, 'twas another matter. Somethin' that he did to other folks who'd trusted us and . . . Humph! this don't interest you, of course . . . Well, 'Bije was well off, I know. His wife died way back in the nineties. She was one of them fashionable women, and a hayseed salt-herrin' of a bachelor brother-in-law stuck down here in the sandheaps didn't interest her much--except as somethin' to forget, I s'pose. I used to see her name in the Boston papers occasionally, givin' parties at Newport and one thing a'nother. I never envied 'em that kind of life. I'm as well fixed as I want to be. Got some money put by for a rainy spell, comf'table house and land, best town on earth to live in and work for; I'm satisfied and always have been. I wouldn't change for nothin'. But I'm nine year older than 'Bije was--and yet I'm left alive. Hum!"

"Your brother had two children by his marriage," said Graves, after a moment of silence.

"Hey? Two children? Why, yes, I remember he did. Boy and girl, wa'n't they? I never saw em. They've growed up by this time, of course."

"Yes, the eldest, Caroline, is nearly twenty. The boy, Stephen, is a year younger. It is concerning those children, Captain Warren, that I have come to you."

Captain Elisha turned in his chair. "Hey?" he queried. "The children? You've come to me about 'Bije's children?"

Graves nodded. "Yes," he answered, solemnly. "That is what I meant by saying your brother had not forgotten you or wished to forget you. In spite of the estrangement, it is evident that his confidence in your judgment and integrity was supreme. His children were his idols, Captain Warren, and he has left them in your charge."

The captain's pipe fell to the hearth.

"WHAT?" he shouted. "Left his children to--to ME! Mr. Graves, you're--you're out of your head--or I am!"

"No, I'm perfectly sane. I have a copy of the will here, and--"

He was interrupted by Miss Baker, who appeared at the door of the dining room. "Did you want me, 'Lisha?" she asked.

Her employer stared at her in a dazed, uncomprehending way.

"Want you?" he repeated. "Want you?"

"Yes; I heard you holler, and I thought p'raps you was callin' me."

"Hey? No, I don't want you, Abbie. . . . Holler! I shouldn't wonder! If all I did was holler, I'm surprised at myself. No, no! Run along out and shut the door. Yes, shut it. . . . Now, Mr. Graves, say that over again and say it slow."

"I say that your brother has left his two children in your care until the youngest shall become of age--twenty-one. I have a copy