Conversation among the captains was, for the next two days, confined to two topics, speculation as to how soon they might expect a reply from the Nantucket female and whether or not Mr. Langley would discharge Hazeltine. On the latter point Captain Eri was decided.

“He won't be bounced,” said the Captain; “now you just put that down in your log. Langley ain't a fool, and he can put two and two together as well as the next feller. If I thought there was any need of it, I'd just drop him a hint myself, but there ain't, so I shan't put my oar in. But I wish you two could have heard that youngster talk to that McLoughlin critter; 'twould have done you good. That boy's all right.”

Captain Jerry was alone when the expected letter came. He glanced at the postmark, saw that it was Nantucket, and stuck the note behind the clock. He did his best to forget it, but he looked so guilty when Captain Perez returned at supper time that that individual suspected something, made his friend confess, and, a little later when Captain Eri came in, the envelope, bearing many thumb-prints, was propped up against the sugar bowl in the middle of the table.

“We didn't open it, Eri,” said Perez proudly. “We did want to, but we thought all hands ought to be on deck when anything as important as this was goin' to be done.”

“He's been holdin' it up to the light for the last ha'f hour,” sneered Captain Jerry. “Anybody 'd think it had a million dollars in it. For the land's sake, open it, Eri, 'fore he has a fit!”

Captain Eri picked up the letter, looked it over very deliberately, and then tore off the end of the envelope. The inclosure was another sheet of note paper like the first epistle. The Captain took out his spectacles, wiped them, and read the following aloud:

“CAPTAIN JEREMIAH BURGESS.

“Sir: I like your looks well enough, though it don't pay to put too much dependence in looks, as nobody knows better than me. Besides, I judge that picture was took quite a spell ago. Anyway, you look honest, and I am willing to risk money enough to carry me to Orham and back, though the dear land knows I ain't got none to throw away. If we don't agree to sign articles, I suppose likely you will be willing to stand half the fare. That ain't any more than right, the way I look at it. I shall come to Orham on the afternoon train, Thursday. Meet me at the depot.

“Yours truly,

“MARTHA B. SNOW.

“P. S.—I should have liked it better if you was a Methodist, but we can't have everything just as we want it in this world.”

Nobody spoke for a moment after the reading of this intensely practical note. Captain Eri whistled softly, scratched his head, and then read the letter over again to himself. At length Captain Perez broke the spell.

“Jerusalem!” he exclaimed. “She don't lose no time, does she?”

“She's pretty prompt, that's a fact,” assented Captain Eri.

Captain Jerry burst forth in indignation:

“Is THAT all you've got to say?” he inquired with sarcasm, “after gittin' me into a scrape like this? Well now, I tell you one thing, I—”

“Don't go on your beam ends, Jerry,” interrupted Captain Eri. “There ain't no harm done yit.”

“Ain't no harm done? Why how you talk, Eri Hedge! Here's a woman that I ain't never seen, and might be a hundred years old, for all I know, comin' down here to-morrow night to marry me by main force, as you might say, and you set here and talk about—”

“Now, hold on, hold on, Jerry! She ain't goin' to marry you unless you want her to, 'tain't likely. More I think of it, the more I like the woman's way of doin' things. She's got sense, there's no doubt of that. You can't sell HER a cat in a bag. She's comin' down here to see you and talk the thing over, and I glory in her spunk.”

“Wants me to pay her fare! I see myself doin' it! I've got ways enough to spend my money without paying fares for Nantucket folks.”

“If you and she sign articles, as she calls it, you'll have to pay more than fares,” said Captain Perez, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think same as Eri does; she's a smart woman. We'll have to meet her at the depot, of course.”

“Well I won't! Cheeky thing! Let her find out where I am! I cal'late she'll have to do some huntin'.”

“Now, see here, Jerry,” said Captain Eri, “you was jest as anxious to have one of us get married as anybody else. You haven't got to marry the woman unless you want to, but you have got to help us see the thing through. I wish myself that we hadn't been quite so pesky anxious to give her the latitude and longitude, and had took some sort of an observation ourselves; but we didn't, and now we've got to treat her decent. You'll be at that depot along with Perez and me.”

When Captain Eri spoke in that tone his two cronies usually obeyed orders. Even the rebellious Jerry, who had a profound respect for his younger friend, gave in after some grumbling.

They sat up until late, speculating concerning the probable age and appearance of the expected visitor. Captain Perez announced that he didn't know why it was, but he had a notion that she was about forty and slim. Captain Jerry, who was in a frame of mind where agreement with anyone was out of the question, gave it as his opinion that she was thirty odd and rather plump. Captain Eri didn't hazard a guess, but suggested that they wait and see.

But even Captain Eri's calmness was more or less assumed, for he did not go fishing the next morning, but stayed about the house, whittling at the model of a clipper ship and tormenting Captain Jerry. The model was one that he had been at work upon at odd times ever since he gave up sea-going. It had never been completed for the very good reason that when one part was finished the Captain tore another part to pieces, and began over again. It was a sort of barometer of his feelings, and when his companions saw him take down the clipper and go to work, they knew he was either thinking deeply upon a perplexing problem or was troubled in his mind.

Captain Perez sang a good deal, principally confining his musical efforts to a ballad with a chorus of,

Also, he glanced at his watch every few minutes and then went to consult the chronometer to make sure of the time.

Captain Jerry went up to the schoolhouse and gave its vacant rooms a thorough sweeping for no particular reason except to be doing something. His appetite was poor, and he actually forgot to feed Lorenzo, a hitherto unheard-of slight, and one that brought down upon him a long lecture from Captain Eri, who vowed that loss of memory was a sure sign of lovesickness.

They started for the railway station immediately after supper. As they passed John Baxter's house they noticed a light in an upper chamber, and wondered if the old man was ill. Captain Eri would have stopped to find out, but Captain Perez insisted that it could be done just as well when they came back, and expressed a fear that they might miss the train. Captain Jerry hadn't spoken since they left home, and walked gloomily ahead with his hands in his pockets.

Mr. “Web” Saunders, fat and in his pink-striped shirtsleeves, sat upon the steps of his saloon as they went by. He wished them an unctuous good-evening. The oily smoothness of Mr. Saunders' voice cannot be described with plain pen and ink; it gurgled with sweetness, like molasses poured from a jug. This was not a special tone put on for the occasion; no one except his wife ever heard him speak otherwise.

The response from the three captains was not enthusiastic, but Mr. Saunders continued to talk of the weather, the fishing, and the cranberry crop until a customer came and gave them a chance to get away.

“Slick! slick! slick!” commented Captain Eri, as they hurried along. “Blessed if he don't pretty nigh purr. I like a cat fust-rate, but I'm always suspicious of a cat-man. You know he's got claws, but you can't tell where he's goin' to use 'em. When a feller like that comes slidin' around and rubbin' his head against my shin, I always feel like keepin' t'other foot ready for a kick. You're pretty sartin to need it one time or another.”

The train was nearly an hour late this evening, owing to a hot box, and the “ex-seafaring man” and his two friends peered anxiously out at it from around the corner of the station. The one coach stopped directly under the lights, and they could see the passengers as they came down the steps. Two or three got out, but these were men. Then came an apparition that caused Captain Jerry to gasp and clutch at Perez for support.

Down the steps of the car came a tall, coal-black negress, and in her hand was a canvas extension case, on the side of which was blazoned in two-inch letters the fateful name, “M. B. Snow, Nantucket.”

Captain Eri gazed at this astounding spectacle for a full thirty seconds. Then he woke up.

“Godfrey domino!” he ejaculated. “BLACK! BLACK! Run! Run for your lives, 'fore she sees us!”

This order was superfluous. Captain Jerry was already half-way to the fence, and going at a rate which bid fair to establish a record for his age. The others fell into his wake, and the procession moved across country like a steeplechase.

They climbed over stone walls and splashed into meadows. They took every short cut between the station and their home. As they came in sight of the latter, Captain Perez' breath gave out almost entirely.

“Heave to!” he gasped. “Heave to, or I'll founder. I wouldn't run another step for all the darkies in the West Indies.”

Captain Eri paused, but it was only after a struggle that Captain Jerry was persuaded to halt.

“I shan't do it, Eri!” he vowed wildly. “I shan't do it! There ain't no use askin' me; I won't marry that black woman! I won't, by thunder!”

“There! there! Jerry!” said Captain Eri soothingly. “Nobody wants you to. There ain't no danger now. She didn't see us.”

“Ain't no danger! There you go again, Eri Hedge! She'll ask where I live and come right down in the depot wagon. Oh! Lordy! Lordy!”

The frantic sacrifice was about to bound away again, when Captain Eri caught him by the arm.

“I'll tell you what,” he said, “we'll scoot for Eldredge's shanty and hide there till she gits tired and goes away. P'raps she won't come, anyhow.”

The deserted fish shanty, property of the heirs of the late Nathaniel Eldredge, was situated in a hollow close to the house. In a few moments the three were inside, with a sawhorse against the door. Then Captain Eri pantingly sat down on an overturned bucket and laughed until the tears came into his eyes.

“That's it, laff!” almost sobbed Captain Jerry. “Set there and tee-hee like a Bedlamite. It's what you might expect. Wait till the rest of the town finds out about this; they'll do the laffin' then, and you won't feel so funny. We'll never hear the last of it in this world. If that darky comes down here, I'll—I'll drown her; I will—”

“I don't blame Jerry,” said Perez indignantly. “I don't see much to laff at. Oh, my soul and body there she comes now.”

They heard the rattle of a heavy carriage, and, crowding together at the cobwebbed window, saw the black shape of the “depot wagon” rock past. They waited, breathless, until they saw it go back again up the road.

“Did you lock the dining-room door, Perez?” asked Captain Eri.

“Course I didn't. Why should I?”

It was a rather senseless question. Nobody locks doors in Orham except at bedtime.

“Humph!” grunted Captain Eri. “She'll see the light in the dining room, and go inside and wait, more 'n likely. Well, there's nothin' for us to do but to stay here for a while, and then, if she ain't gone, one of us 'll have to go up and tell her she won't suit and pay her fare home, that's all. I think Jerry ought to be the one,” he added mischievously. “He bein' the bridegroom, as you might say.”

“Me!” almost shouted the frantic Captain Jerry. “You go to grass! You fellers got me into this scrape, and now let's see you git me out of it. I don't stir one step.”

They sat there in darkness, the silence unbroken, save for an occasional chuckle from the provoking Eri. Perez, however, was meditating, and observed, after a while:

“Snow! That's a queer name for a darky, ain't it?”

“That colored man up at Barry's place was named White,” said Captain Jerry, “and he was black as your hat. Names don't count.”

“They say colored folks make good cooks, Jerry,” slyly remarked Eri. “Maybe you'd better think it over.”

The unlucky victim of chance did not deign an answer, and the minutes crept slowly by. After a long while they heard someone whistling. Perez went to the window to take an observation.

“It's a man,” he said disappointedly. “He's been to our house, too. My land! I hope he didn't go in. It's that feller Hazeltine; that's who 'tis.”

“Is it?” exclaimed Eri eagerly. “That's so! so 'tis. Let's give him a hail.”

Before he could be stopped he had pulled the saw-horse from the door, had opened the latter a little way, and, with his face at the opening, was whistling shrilly.

The electrician looked up and down the dark road in a puzzled sort of way, but evidently could not make up his mind from what quarter the whistles came.

“Mr. Hazeltine!” hailed the Captain, in what might be called a whispered yell or a shouted whisper. “Mr. Hazeltine! Here, on your lee bow. In the shanty.”

The word “shanty” was the only part of the speech that brought light to Ralph's mind, but that was sufficient; he came down the hill, left the road, and plunged through the blackberry vines to the door.

“Who is it?” he asked. “Why, hello, Captain! What on earth—”

Captain Eri signaled him to silence, and then, catching his arm, pulled him into the shanty and shut the door. Captain Jerry hastened to set the saw-horse in place again.

“Mr. Hazeltine,” said Captain Eri, “let me make you acquainted with Cap'n Perez and Cap'n Jerry, shipmates of mine. You've heard me speak of 'em.”

Ralph, in the darkness, shook two big hands and heard whispered voices express themselves as glad to know him.

“You see,” continued Eri in a somewhat embarrassed fashion, “we're sort of layin' to, as yer might say, waitin' to git our bearin's. We ain't out of our heads; I tell you that, 'cause I know that's what it looks like.”

The bewildered Hazeltine laughed and said he was glad to hear it. To tell the truth, he had begun to think that something or other had suddenly driven his nearest neighbors crazy.

“I—I—I don't know how to explain it to you,” the Captain stumbled on. “Fact is, I guess I won't jest yit, if you don't mind. It does sound so pesky ridic'lous, although it ain't, when you understand it. What we want to know is, have you been to our house and is there anybody there?”

“Why, yes, I've been there. I rowed over and dropped in for a minute, as you suggested the other day. The housekeeper—I suppose it was the housekeeper—that opened the door, said you were out, and I—”

He was interrupted by a hopeless groan.

“I knew it!” wailed Captain Jerry. “I knew it! And you said there wa'n't no danger, Eri!”

“Hush up, Jerry, a minute, for the love of goodness! What was she doin', Mr. Hazeltine, this woman you thought was the housekeeper? Did she look as if she was gettin' ready to go out? Did she have her bunnit on?”

“No. She seemed to be very much at home. That's why I thought—”

But again Captain Jerry broke in, “Well, by mighty!” he ejaculated. “That's nice, now, ain't it! SHE goin' away! You bet she ain't! She's goin' to stay there and wait, if it's forever. She's got too good a thing. Jest as like 's not, M'lissy Busteed, or some other gab machine like her, 'll be the next one to call, and if they see that great black critter! Oh! my soul!”

“Black!” said Ralph amazedly. “Why, the woman at your house isn't black. She's as white as I am, and not bad-looking for a woman of her age.”

“WHAT?” This was the trio in chorus. Then Captain Eri said:

“Mr. Hazeltine, now, honest and true, is that a fact?”

“Of course it's a fact.”

The Captain wiped his forehead. “Mr. Hazeltine,” he said, “if anybody had told me a fortn't ago that I was one of the three biggest fools in Orham, I'd have prob'ly rared up some. As 'tis now, I cal'late I'd thank him for lettin' me off so easy. You'll have to excuse us to-night, I'm afraid. We're in a ridic'lous scrape that we've got to git out of all alone. I'll tell you 'bout it some day. Jest now wish you'd keep this kind of quiet to oblige me.”

Hazeltine saw that this was meant as a gentle hint for his immediate departure, and although he had a fair share of curiosity, felt there was nothing else to do. He promised secrecy, promised faithfully to call again later in the week, and then, the sawhorse having been removed by Captain Perez,—Captain Jerry was apparently suffering from a sort of dazed paralysis,—he went away. As soon as he had gone, Captain Eri began to lay down the law.

“Now then,” he said, “there's been some sort of a mistake; that's plain enough. More 'n likely, the darky took the wrong satchel when she got up to come out of the car. That woman at the house is the real Marthy Snow all right, and we've got to go right up there and see her. Come on!”

But Captain Jerry mutinied outright. He declared that the sight of that darky had sickened him of marrying forever, and that he would not see the candidate from Nantucket, nor any other candidate. No persuasion could budge him. He simply would not stir from that shanty until the house had been cleared of female visitors.

“Go and see her yourself, if you're so set on it,” he declared. “I shan't!”

“All right,” said Captain Eri calmly. “I will. I'll tell her you're bashful, but jest dyin' to be married, and that she can have you if she only waits long enough.”

With this he turned on his heel and walked out.

“Hold on, Eri!” shouted the frantic Jerry. “Don't you do it! Don't you tell her that! Land of love, Perez, do you s'pose he will?”

“I don't know,” was the answer in a disgusted tone. “You hadn't ought to have been so pig-headed, Jerry.”

Captain Eri, with set teeth and determination written on his face, walked straight to the dining-room door. Drawing a long breath, he opened it and stepped inside. A woman, who had been sitting in Captain Perez' rocker, rose as he entered.

The woman looked at the Captain and the Captain looked at her. She was of middle age, inclined to stoutness, with a pair of keen eyes behind brass-rimmed spectacles, and was dressed in a black “alpaca” gown that was faded a little in places and had been neatly mended in others. She spoke first.

“You're not Cap'n Burgess?” she said.

“No, ma'am,” said the Captain uneasily. “My name is Hedge. I'm a sort of messmate of his. You're Miss Snow?”

“Mrs. Snow. I'm a widow.”

They shook hands. Mrs. Snow calmly expectant; the Captain very nervous and not knowing how to begin.

“I feel as if I knew you, Cap'n Hedge,” said the widow, as the Captain slid into his own rocker. “The boy on the depot wagon told me a lot about you and Cap'n Ryder and Cap'n Burgess.”

“Did, hey?” The Captain inwardly vowed vengeance on his chum's grandnephew. “Hope he gave us a clean bill.”

“Well, he didn't say nothin' against you, if that's what you mean. If he had, I don't think it would have made much diff'rence. I've lived long enough to want to find out things for myself, and not take folks' say-so.”

The lady seeming to expect some sort of answer to this statement, Captain Eri expressed his opinion that the plan of finding out things for one's self was a good “idee.” Then, after another fidgety silence, he observed that it was a fine evening. There being no dispute on this point, he endeavored to think of something else to say. Mrs. Snow, however, saved him the trouble.

“Cap'n Hedge,” she said, “as I'm here on what you might call a bus'ness errand, and as I've been waitin' pretty nigh two hours already, p'raps we'd better talk about somethin' besides fine evenin's. I've got to be lookin' up a hotel or boardin' house or somewheres to stay to-night, and I can't wait much longer. I jedge you got my letter and was expectin' me. Now, if it ain't askin' too much, I'd like to know where Cap'n Burgess is, and why he wa'n't at the depot to meet me.”

This was a leading question, and the Captain was more embarrassed than ever. However, he felt that something had to be done and that it was wisest to get it over with as soon as possible.

“Well, ma'am,” he said, “we—we got your letter all right, and, to tell you the truth, we was at the depot—Perez and me and Jerry.”

“You WAS! Well, then, for the land of goodness, why didn't you let me know it? Such a time as I had tryin' to find out where you lived and all!”

The Captain saw but one plausible explanation, and that was the plain truth. Slowly he told the story of the colored woman and the extension case. The widow laughed until her spectacles fell off.

“Well, there!” she exclaimed. “If that don't beat all! I don't blame Cap'n Burgess a mite. Poor thing! I guess I'd have run, too, if I'd have seen that darky. She was settin' right in the next seat to me, and she had a shut-over bag consid'rable like mine, and when she got up to git out, she took mine by mistake. I was a good deal put out about it, and I expect I talked to her like a Dutch uncle when I caught up with her. Dear! dear! Where is Cap'n Burgess?”

“He's shut up in a fish shanty down the road, and he's so upsot that I dunno's he'll stir from there tonight. Jerry ain't prejudiced, but that darky was too much for him.”

And then they both laughed, the widow because of the ludicrous nature of the affair and the Captain because of the relief that the lady's acceptance of it afforded his mind.

Mrs. Snow was the first to become grave. “Cap'n Hedge,” she said, “there's one or two things I must say right here. In the first place, I ain't in the habit of answerin' advertisements from folks that wants to git married; I ain't so hard up for a man as all that comes to. Next thing, I didn't come down here with my mind made up to marry Cap'n Burgess, not by no means. I wanted to see him and talk with him, and tell him jest all about how things was with me and find out about him and then—why, if everything was shipshape, I might, p'raps, think about—”

“Jest so, ma'am, jest so,” broke in her companion. “That's about the way we felt. You see, there's prob'ly a long story on both sides, and if you'll excuse me I'll go down to the shanty and see if I can't git Jerry up here. It'll be a job, I'm 'fraid, but—”

“No, you shan't either. I'll tell you what we'll do. It's awful late now and I must be gittin' up to the tavern. S'pose, if 'tain't too much trouble, you walk up there with me and I'll stay there to-night and to-morrer I'll come down here, and we'll all have a common-sense talk. P'raps by that time your friend 'll have the darky woman some off his mind, too.”

Needless to say Captain Eri agreed to this plan with alacrity. The widow carefully tied on a black, old-fashioned bonnet, picked up a fat, wooden-handled umbrella and the extension case, and said that she was ready.

They walked up the road together, the Captain carrying the extension case. They talked, but not of matrimonial prospects. Mrs. Snow knew almost as much about the sea and the goings and comings thereon as did her escort, and the conversation was salty in the extreme. It developed that the Nantucket lady had a distant relative who was in the life-saving service at Cuttyhunk station, and as the Captain knew every station man for twenty miles up and down the coast, wrecks and maritime disasters of all kinds were discussed in detail.

At the Traveler's Rest Mrs. Snow was introduced by the unblushing Eri as a cousin from Provincetown, and, after some controversy concerning the price of board and lodging, she was shown up to her room. Captain Eri walked home, absorbed in meditation. Whatever his thoughts were they were not disagreeable, for he smiled and shook his head more than once, as if with satisfaction. As he passed John Baxter's house he noticed that the light in the upper window was still burning.

Captain Perez was half asleep when Eri opened the door of the shanty. Captain Jerry, however, was very much awake and demanded to be told things right away. His friend briefly explained the situation.

“I don't care if she stays here till doomsday,” emphatically declared the disgruntled one, “I shan't marry her. What's she like, anyhow?”

He was surprised at the enthusiasm of Captain Eri's answer.

“She's a mighty good woman; that's what I think she is, and she'd make a fust-class wife for any man. I hope you'll say so, too, when you see her. There ain't nothin' hity-tity about her, but she's got more common-sense than any woman I ever saw. But there! I shan't talk another bit about her to-night. Come on home and turn in.”

And go home and turn in they did, but not without protestation from the pair who had yet to meet the woman from Nantucket.