acted as a buffer between her and over-sympathetic Come-Outers. Mrs. Coffin silently held out both hands and Grace took them eagerly.

"Thank you for coming, Aunt Keziah," she said. "I was sure you would."

"Least I could do, deary," was the older woman's answer. "Your uncle and I was good friends once; we haven't seen each other so often of late years, but that ain't changed my feelin's. Now you must go home and rest. Don't let any of these"--with a rather scornful glance at Josiah Badger and Ezekiel and the Reverend Absalom--"these Job's comforters bother you. Nat, you see that they let her alone, won't you?"

Captain Nat nodded. He, too, looked very grave and worn. "I'll tend to them," he said shortly. "Come, Grace," he added; "let's go."

But the girl hung back. "Just a minute, Nat," she said. "I--I-- would you mind if I spoke to Aunt Keziah--alone? I only want to say a word."

Nat strode off to the cemetery gate, where Josiah Badger stood, brandishing a red cotton handkerchief as a not too-clean emblem of mourning. Mr. Badger eagerly sprang forward, but ran into an impossible barrier in the form of the captain's outstretched arm. Josiah protested and the captain replied. Grace leaned forward.

"Auntie," she whispered, "tell me: Did a letter-- Did he--"

"Yes, it came. I gave it to him."

"Did--did he tell you? Do you know?"

"Yes, I know, deary."

"Did he--is he--"

"He's well, deary. He'll be all right. I'll look out for him."

"You will, won't you? You won't let him do anything--"

"Not a thing. Don't worry. We've had a long talk and he's going to stay right here and go on with his work. And nobody else'll ever know, Gracie."

"How-- O Aunt Keziah! how he must despise me."

"Despise you! For doin' what was your duty? Nonsense! He'll respect you for it and come to understand 'twas best for both of you, by and by. Don't worry about him, Gracie. I tell you I'll look out for him."

"I guess it will be better if he does despise me. And hate me, too. He can't despise and hate me more than I do myself. But it IS right--what I'm doing; and the other was wrong and wicked. Auntie, you'll come and see me, won't you? I shall be so lonesome."

"Yes, yes; I'll come. Perhaps not right away. There's reasons why I'd better not come right away. But, by and by, after it's all settled and you and Nat"--she hesitated for an instant in spite of herself--"after you and Nat are married I'll come."

"Don't talk about that NOW. Please don't."

"All right, I won't. You be a good, brave girl and look out for Nat; that's your duty and I'm sure you'll do it. And I'll do my best for John."

"Do you call him John?"

"Yup. We had a sort of--of adoptin' ceremony the other mornin' and I-- Well, you see, I've got to have somebody to call by their front name and he's about all I've got left."

"O Aunt Keziah! if I could be one half as patient and brave and sweet as you are--"

"Sssh! here comes Nat. Be kind to him. He's sufferin', too; maybe more'n you imagine. Here she is, Nat. Take her back home and be good to her."

The broad-shouldered skipper led his charge out of the gate and down the "Turn-off." Josiah Badger looked after them disgustedly. As Keziah approached, he turned to her.

"I swan to man!" he exclaimed, in offended indignation, "if I ain't losin' my respect for that Nat Hammond. He's the f-f-fuf- for'ardest critter ever I see. I was just agoin' to hail Gracie and ask her what she thought about my leadin' some of the meetin's now her uncle has been called aloft. I wanted to ask her about it fust, afore Zeke Bassett got ahead of me, but that Nat wouldn't let me. Told me she mustn't be b-b-b-bothered about little things now. LITTLE things! Now, what do you think of that, Mrs. Coffin? And I spoke to Lot Taylor, one of our own s-s-sas-sassiety, and asked what he thought of it, and he said for me to go home set d-d-down and let my h-h-h-hah-hair grow. Of all--"

"I tell you what you do, Josiah," broke in the voice of Captain Zeb Mayo, "you go home or somewhere else and set down and have it cut. That'll take pretty nigh as long, and'll keep it from wearin' out your coat collar. Keziah, I've been waitin' for you. Get in my shay and I'll drive you back to the parsonage."

Mrs. Coffin accepted the invitation and a seat in the chaise beside Captain Zeb. The captain spoke of the dead Come-Outer and of his respect for him in spite of the difference in creed. He also spoke of the Rev. John Ellery and of the affection he had come to feel for the young man.

"I like that young feller, Keziah," he said. "Like him for a lot of reasons, same as the boy liked the hash. For one thing, his religion ain't all starch and no sugar. He's good-hearted and kind and--and human. He seems to get just as much satisfaction out of the promise of heaven as he does out of the sartainty of t'other port. He ain't all the time bangin' the bulkhead and sniffin' brimstone, like parsons I have seen. Sulphur's all right for a spring medicine, maybe, but when June comes I like to remember that God made roses. Elkanah, he comes to me a while ago and he says, 'Zebedee,' he says, 'don't you think Mr. Ellery's sermons might be more orthodox?' 'Yes,' says I, 'they might be, but what a mercy 'tis they ain't.' He, he, he! I kind of like to poke Elkanah in the shirt front once in a while, just to hear it crackle. Say, Keziah, you don't think the minister and Annabel are--"

"No," was the emphatic interruption; "I know they ain't; he ain't, anyway."

"Good! Them Danielses cal'late they own the most of this town already; if they owned the minister they'd swell up so the rest of us would have to go aloft or overboard; we'd be crowded off the decks, sure."

"No one owns him. Haven't you found that out?"

"Yup, I cal'late I have and I glory in his spunk."

"I'm glad to hear you say so. Of course Cap'n Elkanah is boss of the parish committee and--"

"What? No, he ain't nuther. He's head of it, but his vote counts just one and no more. What makes you say that?"

"Oh, nuthin'. Only I thought maybe, long as Elkanah was feelin' that Mr. Ellery wa'n't orthodox enough, he might be goin' to make a change."

"He might? HE might! Say, Keziah Coffin, there was Mayos in this town and in this church afore the fust Daniels ever washed ashore; and they'll be here when the last one blows up with his own importance. I'm on that parish committee--you understand?--and I've sailed ships and handled crews. I ain't so old nor feeble but what I can swing a belayin' pin. Boss! I'll have you to know that no livin' man bosses me."

"All right! I didn't mean to stir you up, Zebedee. But from things Cap'n Daniels has said I gathered that he was runnin' the committee. And, as I'm a friend of Mr. Ellery, it--"

"Friend! Well, so'm I, ain't I? If you ever hear of Daniels tryin' any tricks against the minister, you send for me, that's all. I'LL show him. Boss! Humph!"

The wily Keziah alighted at the parsonage gate with the feeling that she had sown seed in fertile ground. She was quite aware of Captain Zeb's jealousy of the great Daniels. And the time might come when her parson needed an influential friend on the committee and in the Regular society.

The news of the engagement between Captain Nat Hammond and Grace Van Horne, told by Dr. Parker to one or two of his patients, spread through Trumet like measles through a family of small children. Didama Rogers learned it, so did Lavinia Pepper, and after that it might as well have been printed on the walls for all to read. It was talked over and gossiped about in every household from the lighthouse keeper's family to that of George Washington Cash, who lived in the one-room hovel in the woods near the Wellmouth line, and was a person of distinction, in his way, being the sole negro in the county. And whenever it was discussed it was considered a fine thing for both parties concerned. Almost everyone said it was precisely what they expected.

Annabel Daniels and her father had not expected it. They were, however, greatly pleased. In their discussion, which lasted far into the night, Captain Elkanah expressed the opinion that the unexpected denouement was the result of his interview with Eben. He had told the old Come-Outer what would happen to his ward if she persisted in her impudent and audacious plot to entrap a Regular clergyman. She, being discovered, had yielded, perforce, and had accepted Nat as the next best catch.

Annabel was not satisfied with this explanation. Of course, she said, she did not pretend to believe Grace's statement that she had found her uncle unconscious. No doubt the pair had had an interview and all that. But she believed the minister himself had come to his senses and had dismissed the brazen creature. She did not blame Mr. Ellery so much. He was a young man, with a kind heart, and no doubt the "Van Horne person" had worked upon his