If Josiah expected any relaxation in Captain Eri's stern discipline he was disappointed, for he was held to the strict letter of the “shipping articles.” The Captain even went to the length of transferring Perez to the parlor cot and of compelling the boy to share his own room. This was, of course, a precaution against further attempts at running away. Morning after morning the pair rose before daylight and started for the fishing grounds. There were two or three outbreaks on the part of the “able seaman,” but they ended in but one way, complete submission. After a while Josiah, being by no means dull, came to realize that when he behaved like a man he was treated like one. He learned to steer the Mary Ellen, and to handle her in all weathers. Also, his respect for Captain Eri developed into a liking.

Captain Perez was gratified and delighted at the change in his grandnephew's behavior and manners, and was not a little curious to learn the methods by which the result had been brought about. His hints being fruitless, he finally asked his friend point-blank. Captain Eri's answer was something like this:

“Perez,” he said, “do you remember old man Sanborn, that kept school here when you and me was boys? Well, when the old man run foul of a youngster that was sassy and uppish he knocked the sass out of him fust, and then talked to him like a Dutch uncle. He used to call that kind of treatment 'moral suasion.' That's what I'm doin' to Josiah; I'm 'moral suasionin' him.”

Captain Perez was a little anxious concerning the first part of this course of training, but its results were so satisfactory that he asked no more questions. The fact is, Captain Perez' mind was too much occupied with another subject just at this time to allow him to be over-anxious. The other subject was Miss Patience Davis.

Miss Davis, her visit with her brother being over, was acting as companion to an old lady who lived in a little house up the shore, a mile or so above the station. This elderly female, whose name was Mayo, had a son who kept a grocery store in the village and was, therefore, obliged to be away all day and until late in the evening. Miss Patience found Mrs. Mayo's crotchets a bit trying, but the work was easy and to her liking, and she was, as she said, “right across the way, as you might say, from Luther.” The “way” referred to was the stretch of water between the outer beach and the mainland.

And Captain Perez was much interested in Miss patience—very much so, indeed. His frequent visits to the Mayo homestead furnished no end of amusement to Captain Eri, and also to Captain Jerry, who found poking fun at his friend an agreeable change from the old programme of being the butt himself. He wasn't entirely free from this persecution, however, for Eri more than once asked him, in tones the sarcasm of which was elaborately veiled, if his match-making scheme had gotten tired and was sitting down to rest. To which the sacrifice would reply stoutly, “Oh, it's comin' out all right; you wait and see.”

But in his heart Captain Jerry knew better. He had been wise enough to say nothing to his friends concerning his interviews with Elsie and Ralph, but apparently the breaking-off between the pair was final. Hazeltine called occasionally, it is true, but his stays were short and, at the slightest inclination shown by the older people to leave the room, he left the house. There was some comment by Eri and Mrs. Snow on this sudden change, but they were far from suspecting the real reason. Elsie continued to be as reticent as she had been of late; her school work was easier now that Josiah was no longer a pupil.

Christmas was rather a failure. There were presents, of course, but the planned festivities were omitted owing to a change in John Baxter's condition. From growing gradually better, he now grew slowly, but surely, worse. Dr. Palmer's calls were more frequent, and he did not conceal from Mrs. Snow or the captains his anxiety. They hid much of this from Elsie, but she, too, noticed the change, and was evidently worried by it. Strange to say, as his strength ebbed, the patient's mind grew clearer. His speech, that in his intervals of consciousness had heretofore dealt with events of the past, was now more concerned with recent happenings. But Captain Eri had never heard him mention the fire.

One afternoon in January Mrs. Snow and Captain Eri were together in the sick room. The rest of the household was absent on various errands; Captain Perez paying a visit to the life-saver's sister and Elsie staying after school to go over some examination papers. There was snow on the ground, and a “Jinooary thaw” was causing the eaves to drip, and the puddles in the road to grow larger. The door of the big stove was open, and the coals within showed red-hot. Captain Baxter was apparently asleep.

“Let me see,” said Mrs. Snow musingly, in a low tone. “I've been here now, two, three, over four months. Seems longer, somehow.”

“Seems almost as if you'd always been here,” replied Captain Eri. “Queer how soon we git used to a change. I don't know how we got along afore, but we did some way or other, if you call it gittin' along,” he added with a shrug. “I should hate to have to try it over again.”

“It's always seemed funny to me,” remarked the lady, “that you men, all sailors so—and used to doin' for yourselves, should have had such a time when you come to try keepin' house. I should have expected it if you was—well, doctors, or somethin' like that—used to havin' folks wait on you, but all sea captains, it seems queer.”

“It does, don't it? I've thought of that myself. Anybody'd think we was the most shif'less lot that ever lived, but we wa'n't. Even Jerry—and he's the wust one of the three when it comes to leavin' things at loose ends—always had a mighty neat vessel, and had the name of makin' his crews toe the mark. I honestly b'lieve it come of us bein' on shore and runnin' the shebang on a share and share alike idee. If there'd been a skipper, a feller to boss things, we'd have done better, but when all hands was boss—nobody felt like doin' anything. Then, too, we begun too old. A feller gits sort of sot in his ways, and it's hard to give in to the other chap.

“Now, take that marryin' idee,” he went on. “I laughed at that a good deal at fust and didn't really take any stock in it, but I guess 'twas real hoss sense, after all. Anyhow, it brought you down here, and what we'd done without you when John was took sick, I don't know. I haven't said much about it, but I've felt enough, and I know the other fellers feel the same way. You've been so mighty good and put up with so many things that must have fretted you like the nation, and the way you've managed—my!”

The whole-souled admiration in the Captain's voice made the housekeeper blush like a girl.

“Don't say a word, Cap'n Eri,” she protested. “It's been jest a pleasure to me, honest. I've had more comfort and—well, peace, you might say, sence I've been in this house than I've had afore for years.”

“When I think,” said the Captain, “of what we might have got for that advertisement, I swan it makes my hair curl. Advertisin' that way in that kind of a paper, why we might have had a—a play actress, or I don't know what, landed on us. Seems 's if there was a Providence in it: seems 's if you was kind of SENT—there!”

“I don't know what you must think of me answerin' an advertisement for a husband that way. It makes me 'shamed of myself when I think of it, I declare. And in that kind of a paper, too.”

“I've wondered more times than a few how you ever got a hold of that paper. 'Tain't one you'd see every day nat'rally, you know.”

Mrs. Snow paused before she answered. Then she said slowly, “Well, I'm s'prised you ain't asked that afore. I haven't said much about myself sence I've been here, for no p'tic'lar reason that I know of, except that there wasn't much to tell and it wasn't a very interestin' yarn to other folks. My husband's name was Jubal Snow—”

“You don't say!” exclaimed the Captain. “Why, Jerry used to know him.”

“I shouldn't wonder. Jubal knew a lot of folks on the Cape here. He was a good husband—no better anywheres—and he and I had a good life together long as he was well. I've sailed a good many v'yages with him, and I feel pretty nigh as much at home on the water as I do on land. Our trouble was the same that a good many folks have; we didn't cal'late that fair weather wouldn't last all the time, that's all.

“It wasn't his fault any more than 'twas mine. We saved a little money, but not enough, as it turned out. Well, he was took down sick and had to give up goin' to sea, and we had a little place over in Nantucket, and settled down on it. Fust along, Jubal was able to do a little farmin' and so on, and we got along pretty well, but by and by he got so he wa'n't able to work, and then 'twas harder. What little we'd saved went for doctor's bills and this, that, and t'other. He didn't like to have me leave him, so I couldn't earn much of anything, and fin'lly we come to where somethin' had to be done right away, and we talked the thing over and decided to mortgage the house. The money we got on the mortgage lasted until he died.

“He had a little life insurance, not enough, of course, but a little. He was plannin' to take on more, but somehow it never seemed as if he could die, he so big and strong, and we put it off until he got so he couldn't pass the examination. When the insurance money come I took it to Jedge Briar, a mighty good friend of Jubal's and mine and the one that held the mortgage on the house, and I told him I wanted to pay off the mortgage with it, so's I'd have the house free and clear. But the Jedge advised me not to, said the mortgage was costin' me only six per cent., and why didn't I put the money where 'twas likely to be a good investment that would pay me eight or ten per cent.? Then I'd be makin' money, he said. I asked him to invest it for me, and he put it into the Bay Shore Land Company, where most of his own was.”

“Sho! I want to know!” broke in the Captain. “He did, hey! Well, I had some there, too, and so did Perez. Precious few fam'lies on the Cape that didn't.”

“Yes, he thought 'twas the safest and best place he knew of. The officers bein' sons of Cape people and their fathers such fine men, everybody said 'twas all right. I got my dividends reg'lar for a while, and I went out nussin' and did sewin' and got along reel well. I kept thinkin' some day I'd be able to pay off the mortgage and I put away what little I could towards it, but then I was took sick and that money went, and then the Land Company went up the spout.”

The Captain nodded. The failure of the company had brought poverty to hundreds of widows. Mrs. Snow's case was but another instance.

“Let me see,” said the lady. “Where was I? Oh, yes! the Land Company's failin'. Well, it failed and the insurance money went with it. It was discouragin', of course, but I had my house, except for the mortgage, and I had my health again, and, if I do say it, I ain't afraid of work, so I jest made up my mind there was no use cryin' over spilt milk, and that I must git along and begin to save all over again. Then Jedge Briar died and his nephew up to Boston come into the property. I was behind in my payments a little, and they sent me word they should foreclose the mortgage, and they did.”

“Well, I swan! The mean sculpins! Didn't you have NOBODY you could go to; no relations nor nothin'?”

“I've got a brother out in Chicago, but he married rich and his wife doesn't care much for her husband's relations. I never saw her but once, and then one of the first things she asked me was if it was true that there was more crazy people in Nantucket than in any other place of its size on earth, and afore I could answer she asked me what made 'em crazy. I told her I didn't know unless it was answerin' city folks' questions. She didn't like that very well, and I haven't heard from Job—that's my brother—for a long time. All my other near relations are dead.

“So they foreclosed the mortgage, and gave me notice to move out. I packed my things, and watered my flowers—I had quite a pretty flower garden—for the last time, and then come in and set down in the rocker to wait for the wagon that was goin' to move me. I got to thinkin' how proud Jubal and me was when we bought that house and how we planned about fixin' it up, and how our baby that died was born in it, and how Jubal himself had died there, and told me that he was glad he was leavin' me a home, at any rate; and I got so lonesome and discouraged that I jest cried, I couldn't help it. But I've never found that cryin' did much good, so I wiped my eyes and looked for somethin' to read to take up my mind. And that Chime paper was what I took up.

“You see, there'd been a big excursion from Boston down the day before, and some of the folks come down my way to have a sort of picnic. Two of 'em, factory girls from Brockton, they was, come to the house for a drink of water. They were gigglin', foolish enough critters, but I asked 'em in, and they eat their lunches on my table. They left two or three story papers and that Chime thing when they went away.

“Well, I looked it over, and almost the first thing I saw was that advertisement signed 'Skipper.' It didn't read like the other trashy things in there, and it sounded honest. And all of a sudden it come over me that I'd answer it. I was lonesome and tired and sort of didn't care, and I answered it right off without waitin' another minute. That's all there is to tell. When I come here to be housekeeper I wrote the folks that's takin' care of my furniture—they're reel kind people; I was goin' to board there if I had stayed in Nantucket—to keep it till I come back. There! I meant to tell you this long ago, and I don't know why I haven't.”

The Captain knew why she hadn't. It was easy to read between the lines the tale of the years of disappointment and anxiety. Such stories are not easy to tell, and he respected the widow more than ever for the simple way in which she had told hers.

“That Land Company bus'ness,” he said, “carried off a good lot of Cape Cod money. I never saw but one man that I thought was glad it busted, and that was old Caleb Weeks, over to Harniss. The old man was rich, but closer 'n the bark of a tree—he'd skin a flea for the hide and taller—and used to be a hard case into the bargain. One time they had a big revival over there and he got religion. The boys used to say what caught Caleb was the minister's sayin' salvation was free. Well, anyhow, he got converted and j'ined the church. That was all right, only while the fit was fresh he pledged himself to give five hundred dollars to help build the new chapel. When he cooled down a little he was sorry, and every time they'd hint at his comin' down with the cash, he'd back and fill, and put it off for a spell. When the Land Company went up he was the only happy one in town, 'cause he said he'd lost all his money. Course, under the circumstances, they couldn't ask him to pay, so he didn't. From what I hear he lost as much as fifty dollars.”

They both laughed, and Mrs. Snow was about to answer when she was interrupted.

“Eri,” said a weak voice. “Eri.”

The Captain started, turned sharply, and saw the sick man watching him, his eyes fixed and unwavering.

“Eri,” said John Baxter again, “come here.”

Mrs. Snow hurried to her patient, but the latter impatiently bade her let him alone.

“Not you,” he said, “I want Eri.”

Captain Eri stooped down beside the bed.

“What is it, John?” he asked.

“Eri s'pose God called you to break man's law and keep his, what would you do?”

The Captain glanced anxiously at the house-keeper. Then he said soothingly:

“Oh, that's all right, John. Don't worry 'bout that. You and me settled that long ago. How are you feelin' now?”

“I know, I know,” with the monotonous persistence of those whose minds are wandering,—and then cleanly once more, “Eri, I've been called.”

“Ssh-h! That's all right, John; that's all right. Don't you want Mrs. Snow to fix your piller? P'raps you'd lay a little easier, then. Now, Mrs. Snow, if you'll jest turn it while I lift him. So; that's better now, ain't it, shipmate, hey?” But the sick man muttered an unintelligible something, and relapsed once more into the half-doze, half-stupor that was his usual state.

Captain Eri sighed in relief.

“That was queer, wa'n't it?” he observed.

“He's had two or three of those spells in the last day or two,” was the answer.

The Captain wondered what his friend might have said during those “spells,” but he was afraid to inquire. Instead, he asked, “What did the doctor say when he was here this mornin'?”

“Nothin' very hopeful. I asked him plain what he thought of the case, and he answered jest as plain. He said Cap'n Baxter had failed dreadful in the last week, and that he wouldn't be s'prised if he dropped off most any time. Then again, he said he might live for months.”

“I see, I see.”

They were silent for a while, watching the sick man, whose sleep, or stupor, was not as tranquil as usual. Two or three times his eyes opened, and he muttered audibly.

“I never saw him so restless afore,” commented Captain Eri anxiously.

“He was so last night.”

“Did Elsie see him?”

“No, I was alone here, and she was asleep in the next room. I got up and shut the door.”

The Captain glanced keenly at the housekeeper, but her face was placid and inscrutable. He shifted uneasily and then said, “Elsie's late to-night, ain't she? I wonder what's keepin' her.”

“School work, I s'pose. She's workin' harder 'n she ought to, I think.”

“FIRE!”

The word was shouted, and the room rang with it. John Baxter, whose weakness had hitherto been so great that he could not turn himself in bed, was leaning on his elbow and pointing with outstretched finger to the open stove door.

“Fire!” he shouted again. “It's blazin'! It's burnin'! It's wipin' the plague spot from the earth. I hear you, Lord! I'm old, but I hear you, and your servant's ready. Where will it be to-morrer? Gone! burnt up! and the ways of the wicked shan't prevail.”

They forced him back on the pillow, but he fought them fiercely for a moment or two. After they thought they had quieted him, he broke out again, talking rapidly and clearly.

“I hear the call, Lord,” he said. “I thank thee for showin' it to me in your Book. 'And they burnt all their cities wherein they dwelt, and all their goodly castles, with fire.' With fire! With fire!”

“Ssh-h! There, there, John! Don't talk so,” entreated the Captain.

“Where's the kerosene?” continued the old man. “And the matches? Now softly, softly. The shavin's. It's dark. Here, in the corner. Ah, ha! ah, ha! 'And all their goodly castles with fire!' Now, Web Saunders, you wicked man! Now! Burn! I've done it, Lord! I've done it!”

“Hush!” almost shouted the agonized Captain Eri. “Hush, John! Be still!”

“There, there, Cap'n Baxter,” said Mrs. Snow soothingly, laying her hand on the sick man's forehead. Somehow, the touch seemed to quiet him; his eyes lost their fire, and he muttered absently that he was tired. Then the eyes closed and he lay still, breathing heavily.

“Land of love!” exclaimed the Captain. “That was awful! Hadn't I better go for the doctor?”

“I don't think so, unless he gits worse. He had jest such a turn, as I told you, last night.”

“Did he talk like he did jest now?”

“Jest the same.”

“'Bout the same things?”

“Yes.”

The Captain gasped. “Then you knew!” he said.

“That he set the billiard room afire? Yes. I've always rather suspicioned that he did, and last night, of course, made me sure of it.”

“Well, well! You haven't said nothin' 'bout it to anybody?”

“Of course not.”

“No, 'course you haven't. You must excuse me—I'm kind of upset, I guess. Dear! dear! Did you think I knew it?”

“I sort of guessed that you did.”

“Well, I did. I've known it ever sence that night he was found. He had his coat on when I found him, and 'twas all burnt, and there was an empty kerosene bottle in his pocket. I hid the coat, and threw the bottle away, and turned him so he was facin' towards the saloon 'stead of from it. And I lied when I told the doctor that he was jest as he fell. There! the murder's out! Now, what do you think of me?”

“Think? I think you did exactly right.”

“You DO?”

“I sartinly do.”

“Well, I snum! I've been over that thing time and time again, and I've felt like I was sort of a firebug myself sometimes. I've heard folks layin' it to fust one and then the other, and cal'latin' that Web did it himself to git the insurance, and all the time I've known who really did do it, and haven't said anything. I jest couldn't. You see, John and me's been brothers almost. But I didn't s'pose anybody else would see it the same way.”

“Cap'n Eri, do you s'pose I blame you for tryin' to keep your best friend out of trouble that he got into by bein'—well—out of his head. Why, land of mercy! He ain't no more to be held responsible than a baby. You did what I'd have done if I'd been in your place, and I respect you for it.”

The Captain's voice shook as he answered:

“Marthy Snow,” he said, “you're the kind of woman that I'd like to have had for a sister.”

It was perhaps a half-hour later when Captain Eri started for the schoolhouse to bring Elsie home. John Baxter had not wakened, and Mrs. Snow said she was not afraid to remain alone with him. The thaw had turned to a light rain and the Captain carried an umbrella. It was dark by this time, and when he came in sight of the schoolhouse he saw a light in the window.

One of the scholars—a by no means brilliant one—whose principal educational achievement was the frequency with which he succeeded in being “kept after school,” was seated on the fence, doing his best to whittle it to pieces with a new jackknife.

“Hello, sonny!” said the Captain. “Miss Preston gone yit?”

“No, she ain't,” replied the boy, continuing to whittle. “She's up there. Mr. Saunders is there, too.”

“Saunders? WEB SAUNDERS?”

“Yup. I see him go in there a little while ago.” Captain Eri started toward the schoolhouse at a rapid pace; then he suddenly stopped; and then, as suddenly, walked on again. All at once he dropped his umbrella and struck one hand into the palm of the other with a smack.

When he reached the door, he leaned the umbrella in the corner and walked up the stairs very softly, indeed.