Elsie and Captain Jerry were kept busy that afternoon. Abner Mayo's news spread quickly, and people gathered at the post-office, the stores, and the billiard room to discuss it. Some of the men, notably “Cy” Warner and “Rufe” Smith, local representatives of the big Boston dailies, hurried off to the life-saving station to get the facts at first hand. Others came down to talk with Captain Jerry and Elsie. Melissa Busteed's shawl was on her shoulders and her “cloud” was tied about her head in less than two minutes after her next-door neighbor shouted the story across the back yards. She had just left the house, and Captain Jerry was delivering a sarcastic speech concerning “talkin' machines,” when Daniel plodded through the gate, drawing the buggy containing Josiah, Mrs. Snow, and Captain Eri.

For a man who had been described as “half-dead,” Captain Eri looked very well, indeed. Jerry ran to help him from the carriage, but he jumped out himself and then assisted the housekeeper to alight with an air of proud proprietorship. He was welcomed to the house like a returned prodigal, and Captain Jerry shook his well hand until the arm belonging to it seemed likely to become as stiff and sore as the other. While this handshaking was going on Captain Eri was embarrassed. He did not look his friend in the face, and most of his conversation was addressed to Elsie.

As soon as he had warmed his hands and told the story of the wreck and rescue, he said, “Jerry, come up to my room a minute, won't you? I've got somethin' I want to say.”

Vaguely wondering what the private conversation might be, Jerry followed his friend upstairs. When they were in the room, Captain Eri closed the door and faced his companion. He was confused, and stammered a little, as he said, “Jerry, I've—I've got somethin' to say to you 'bout Mrs. Snow.”

Then it was Captain Jerry's turn to be confused.

“Now, Eri,” he protested, “'tain't fair to keep pesterin' me like this. I know I ain't said nothin' to her yit, but I'm goin' to. I had a week, anyhow, and it ain't ha'f over. Land sake!” he burst forth, “d'you s'pose I ain't been thinkin' 'bout it? I ain't thought of nothin' else, hardly. I bet you I've been over the whole thing every night sence we had that talk. I go over it and GO over it. I've thought of more 'n a million ways to ask her, but there ain't one of 'em that suits me. If I was goin' to be hung 'twouldn't be no worse, and now you've got to keep a-naggin'. Let me alone till my time is up, can't you?”

“I wa'n't naggin'. I was jest goin' to tell you that you won't have to ask. I've been talkin' to her myself, and—”

The sacrifice sprang out of his chair.

“Eri Hedge!” he exclaimed indignantly. “I thought you was a friend of mine! I give you my word I'd do it in a week, and the least you could have done, seems to me, would have been to wait and give me the chance. But no! all you think 'bout's yourself. So 'fraid she'd say no and you'd lose your old housekeeper, wa'n't you? The idea! She must think I'm a good one—can't do my own courtin', and have to git somebody to do it for me! What did she say?” he asked suddenly.

“She said yes to what I asked her,” was the reply with a half smile.

Upon Captain Jerry's face settled the look of one who accepts the melancholy inevitable. He sat down again.

“I s'posed she would,” he said with a sigh. “She's known me for quite a spell now, and she's had a chance to see what kind of a man I be. Well, what else did you do? Ain't settled the weddin' day, have you?” This with marked sarcasm.

“Not yit. Jerry, you've made a mistake. I didn't ask her for you.”

“Didn't ask her—didn't—What are you talkin' 'bout, then?”

“I asked her for myself. She's goin' to marry me.”

Captain Jerry was too much astonished even to get up. Instead, he simply sat still with open mouth while his friend continued.

“I've come to think a lot of Mrs. Snow sence she's been here,” Captain Eri said slowly, “and I've found out that she's felt the same way 'bout me. I've kept still and said nothin' 'cause I thought you ought to have the fust chance and, besides, I didn't know how she felt. But to-day, while we was talkin', it all come out of itself, seems so, and—well, we're goin' to be married.”

The sacrifice—a sacrifice no longer—still sat silent, but curious changes of expression were passing over his face. Surprise, amazement, relief, and now a sort of grieved resignation.

“I feel small enough 'bout the way I've treated you, Jerry,” continued Captain Eri. “I didn't mean to—but there! it's done, and all I can do is say I'm sorry and that I meant to give you your chance. I shan't blame you if you git mad, not a bit; but I hope you won't.”

Captain Jerry sighed. When he spoke it was in a tone of sublime forgiveness.

“Eri,” he said, “I ain't mad. I won't say my feelin's ain't hurt, 'cause—'cause—well, never mind. If a wife and a home ain't for me, why I ought to be glad that you're goin' to have 'em. I wish you both luck and a good v'yage. Now, don't talk to me for a few minutes. Let me git sort of used to it.”

So they shook hands and Captain Eri, with a troubled look at his friend, went out. After he had gone, Captain Jerry got up and danced three steps of an improvised jig, his face one broad grin. Then, with an effort, he sobered down, assumed an air of due solemnity, and tramped downstairs.

If the announcement of Captain Perez' engagement caused no surprise, that of Captain Eri's certainly did—surprise and congratulation on the part of those let into the secret, for it was decided to say nothing to outsiders as yet. Ralph came over that evening and they told him about it, and he was as pleased as the rest. As for the Captain, he was only too willing to shake hands with any and everybody, although he insisted that the housekeeper had nothing to be congratulated upon, and that she was “takin' big chances.” The lady herself merely smiled at this, and quietly said that she was willing to take them.

The storm had wrecked every wire and stalled every train, and Orham was isolated for two days. Then communication was established once more, and the Boston dailies received the news of the loss of the life-savers and the crew of the schooner. And they made the most of it; sensational items were scarce just then, and the editors welcomed this one. The big black headlines spread halfway across the front pages. There were pictures of the wreck, “drawn by our artist from description,” and there were “descriptions” of all kinds. Special reporters arrived in the village and interviewed everyone they could lay hands on. Abner Mayo felt that for once he was receiving the attention he deserved.

The life-saving station and the house by the shore were besieged by photographers and newspaper men. Captain Eri indignantly refused to pose for his photograph, so he was “snapped” as he went out to the barn, and had the pleasure of seeing a likeness of himself, somewhat out of focus, and with one leg stiffly elevated, in the Sunday Blanket. The reporters waylaid him at the post-office, or at his fish shanty, and begged for interviews. They got them, brief and pointedly personal, and, though these were not printed, columns describing him as “a bluff, big-hearted hero,” were.

If ever a man was mad and disgusted, that man was the Captain. In the first place, as he said, what he had done was nothing more than any other man 'longshore would have done, and, secondly, it was nobody's business. Then again, he said, and with truth:

“This whole fuss makes me sick. Here's them fellers in the crew been goin' out, season after season, takin' folks off wrecks, and the fool papers never say nothin' 'bout it; but they go out this time, and don't save nobody and git drownded themselves, and they're heroes of a sudden. I hear they're raisin' money up to Boston to give to the widders and orphans. Well, that's all right, but they'd better keep on and git the Gov'ment to raise the sal'ries of them that's left in the service.”

The climax came when a flashily dressed stranger called, and insisted upon seeing the Captain alone. The interview lasted just about three minutes. When Mrs. Snow, alarmed by the commotion, rushed into the room, she found Captain Eri in the act of throwing after the fleeing stranger the shiny silk hat that the latter had left behind.

“Do you know what that—that swab wanted?” hotly demanded the indignant Captain. “He wanted me to rig up in ileskins and a sou'wester and show myself in dime museums. Said he'd buy that dory of Luther's that I went out in, and show that 'long with me. I told him that dory was spread up and down the beach from here to Setuckit, but he said that didn't make no diff'rence, he'd have a dory there and say 'twas the reel one. Offered me a hundred dollars a week, the skate! I'd give ten dollars right now to tell him the rest of what I had to say.”

After this the Captain went fishing every day, and when at home refused to see anybody not known personally. But the agitation went on, for the papers fed the flames, and in Boston they were raising a purse to buy gold watches and medals for him and for Captain Davis.

Shortly after four o'clock one afternoon of the week following that of the wreck, Captain Eri ventured to walk up to the village, keeping a weather eye out for reporters and smoking his pipe. He made several stops, one of them being at the schoolhouse where Josiah, now back at his desk, was studying overtime to catch up with his class.

As the Captain was strolling along, someone touched him from behind, and he turned to face Ralph Hazeltine. The electrician had been a pretty regular caller at the house of late, but Captain Eri had seen but little of him, for reasons unnecessary to state.

“Hello, Captain!” said Ralph. “Taking a constitutional? You want to look out for Warner; I hear he's after you for another rescue 'special.'”

“He'll need somebody to rescue him if he comes pesterin' 'round me,” was the reply. “You ain't seen my dime show friend nowheres, have you? I'd sort of like to meet HIM again; our other talk broke off kind of sudden.”

Ralph laughed, and said he was afraid that the museum manager wouldn't come to Orham again very soon.

“I s'pose likely not,” chuckled Captain Eri. “I ought to have kept his hat; then, maybe, he'd have come back after it. Oh, say!” he added, “I've been meanin' to ask you somethin'. Made up your mind 'bout that western job yit?”

Ralph shook his head. “Not yet,” he said slowly. “I shall very soon, though, I think.”

“Kind of puzzlin' you, is it? Not that it's really any of my affairs, you understand. There's only a few of us good folks left, as the feller said, and I'd hate to see you leave, that's all.”

“I am not anxious to go, myself. My present position gives me a good deal of leisure time for experimental work—and—well, I'll tell you in confidence—there's a possibility of my becoming superintendent one of these days, if I wish to.”

“Sho! you don't say! Mr. Langley goin' to quit?”

“He is thinking of it. The old gentleman has saved some money, and he has a sister in the West who is anxious to have him come out there and spend the remainder of his days with her. If he does, I can have his position, I guess. In fact, he has been good enough to say so.”

“Well, that's pretty fine, ain't it? Langley ain't the man to chuck his good opinions round like clam shells. You ought to feel proud.”

“I suppose I ought.”

They walked on silently for a few steps, the Captain waiting for his companion to speak, and the latter seeming disinclined to do so. At length the older man asked another question.

“Is t'other job so much better?”

“No.”

Silence again. Then Ralph said, “The other position, Captain, is very much like this one in some respects. It will place me in a country town, even smaller than Orham, where there are few young people, no amusements, and no society, in the fashionable sense of the word.”

“Humph! I thought you didn't care much for them things.”

“I don't.”

To this enigmatical answer the Captain made no immediate reply. After a moment, however, he said, slowly and with apparent irrelevance, “Mr. Hazeltine, I can remember my father tellin' 'bout a feller that lived down on the South Harniss shore when he was a boy. Queer old chap he was, named Elihu Bassett; everybody called him Uncle Elihu. In them days all hands drunk more or less rum, and Uncle Elihu drunk more. He had a way of stayin' sober for a spell, and then startin' off on a regular jamboree all by himself. He had an old flat-bottomed boat that he used to sail 'round in, but she broke her moorin's one time and got smashed up, so he wanted to buy another. Shadrach Wingate, Seth's granddad 'twas, tried to fix up a dicker with him for a boat he had. They agreed on the price, and everything was all right 'cept that Uncle Elihu stuck out that he must try her 'fore he bought her.

“So Shad fin'lly give in, and Uncle Elihu sailed over to Wellmouth in the boat. He put in his time 'round the tavern there, and when he come down to the boat ag'in, he had a jugful of Medford in his hand, and pretty nigh as much of the same stuff under his hatches. He got afloat somehow, h'isted the sail, lashed the tiller after a fashion, took a nip out of the jug and tumbled over and went fast asleep. 'Twas a still night or 'twould have been the finish. As 'twas he run aground on a flat and stuck there till mornin'.

“Next day back he comes with the boat all scraped up, and says he, 'She won't do, Shad; she don't keep her course.'

“'Don't keep her course, you old fool!' bellers Shad. 'And you tight as a drumhead and sound asleep! Think she can find her way home herself?' he says.

“'Well,' says Uncle Elihu, 'if she can't she ain't the boat for me.'”

Ralph laughed. “I see,” he said. “Perhaps Uncle Elihu was wise. Still, if he wanted the boat very much, he must have hated to put her to the test.”

“That's so,” assented the Captain, “but 'twas better to know it then than to be sorry for it afterwards.”

Both seemed to be thinking, and neither spoke again until they came to the grocery store, where Hazeltine stopped, saying that he must do an errand for Mr. Langley. They said good-night, and the Captain turned away, but came quickly back and said:

“Mr. Hazeltine, if it ain't too much trouble, would you mind steppin' up to the schoolhouse when you've done your errand? I've left somethin' there with Josiah, and I'd like to have you git it. Will you?”

“Certainly,” was the reply, and it was not until the Captain had gone that Ralph remembered he did not know what he was to get.

When he reached the school he climbed the stairs and opened the door, expecting to find Josiah alone. Instead, there was no one there but Elsie, who was sitting at the desk. She sprang up as he entered. Both were somewhat confused.

“Pardon me, Miss Preston,” he said. “Captain Eri sent me here. He said he left something with Josiah, and wished me to call for it.”

“Why, I'm sure I don't know what it can be,” replied Elsie. “Josiah has been gone for some time, and he said nothing to me about it.”

“Perhaps it is in his desk,” suggested Ralph. “Suppose we look.”

So they looked, but found nothing more than the usual assortment contained in the desk of a healthy schoolboy. The raised lid shut off the light from the window, and the desk's interior was rather dark. They had to grope in the corners, and occasionally their hands touched. Every time this happened Ralph thought of the decision that he must make so soon.

He thought of it still more when, after the search was abandoned, Elsie suggested that he help her with some problems that she was preparing for the next day's labors of the first class in arithmetic. In fact, as he sat beside her, pretending to figure, but really watching her dainty profile as it moved back and forth before his eyes, his own particular problem received far more attention than did those of the class. Suddenly he spoke:

“Teacher,” he said, “please, may I ask a question?”

“You should hold up your hand if you wish permission to speak,” was the stern reply.

“Please consider it held up.”

“Is the question as important as 'How many bushels did C. sell?' which happens to be my particular trouble just now.”

“It is to me, certainly.” Ralph was serious enough now. “It is a question that I have been wrestling with for some time. It is, shall I take the position that has been offered me in the West, or shall I stay here and become superintendent of the station? The superintendent's place may be mine, I think, if I want it.”

Elsie laid down her pencil and hesitated for a moment before she spoke. When she did reply her face was turned away from her companion.

“I should think that question might best be decided by comparing the salaries and prospects of the two positions,” she said quietly.

“The two positions are much alike in one way. You know what the life at the station means the greater portion of the year—no companions of your own age and condition, no society, no amusements. The Western offer means all this and worse, for the situation is the same all the year. I say these things because I hope you may be willing to consider them, not from my point of view solely, but from yours.”

“From mine?”

“Yes. You see I am recklessly daring to hope that, whichever lot is chosen, you may be willing to share it with me—as my wife. Elsie, do you think you could consider the question from that viewpoint?”

And—well—Elsie thought she could.

The consideration—we suppose it was the consideration—took so long that it was nearly dark when Elsie announced that she simply MUST go. It was Ralph's duty as a gentleman to help her in putting on her coat, and this took an astonishingly long time. Finally it was done, however, and they came downstairs.

“Dearest,” said Ralph, after the door was locked, “I forgot to have another hunt for whatever it was that Captain Eri wanted me to get.”

Elsie smiled rather oddly.

“Are you sure you haven't got it?” she asked demurely.

“Got it! Why—why, by George, what a numbskull I am! The old rascal! I thought there was a twinkle in his eye.”

“He said he should come back after me.”

“Well, well! Bless his heart, it's sound and sweet all the way through. Yes, I HAVE got it, and, what's more, I shall tell him that I mean to keep it.”

The gold watches from the people to the heroes of the Orham wreck having been duly bought and inscribed and the medals struck, there came up the question of presentation, and it was decided to perform the ceremony in the Orham town hall, and to make the occasion notable. The Congressman from the district agreed to make the necessary speech. The Harniss Cornet Band was to furnish music. All preparations were made, and it remained only to secure the consent of the parties most interested, namely, Captain Eri and Luther Davis.

And this was the hardest task of all. Both men at first flatly refused to be present. The Captain said he might as well go to the dime museum and be done with it; he was much obliged to the Boston folks, but his own watch was keeping good time, and he didn't need a new one badly enough to make a show of himself to get it. Captain Davis said very much the same.

But Miss Patience was proud of her brother's rise to fame, and didn't intend to let him forfeit the crowning glory. She enlisted Captain Perez as a supporter, and together they finally got Luther's unwilling consent to sit on the platform and be stared at for one evening. Meanwhile, Captain Jerry, Elsie, Ralph, and Mrs. Snow were doing their best to win Captain Eri over. When Luther surrendered, the forces joined, and the Captain threw up his hands.

“All right,” he said. “Only I ought to beg that dime museum feller's pardon. 'Tain't right to be partial this way.”

The hall was jammed to the doors. Captain Eri, seated on the platform at one end of the half-circle of selectmen, local politicians, and minor celebrities, looked from the Congressman in the middle to Luther on the other end, and then out over the crowded settees. He saw Mrs. Snow's pleasant, wholesome face beaming proudly beside Captain Jerry's red one. He saw Captain Perez and Miss Patience sitting together close to the front, and Ralph and Elsie a little further back. The Reverend Mr. Perley was there; so were the Smalls and Miss Abigail Mullett. Melissa Busteed was on the very front bench with the boys, of whom Josiah was one. The “train committee” was there—not a member missing—and at the rear of the hall, smiling and unctuous as ever, was “Web” Saunders. In spite of his stage fright the Captain grinned when he saw “Web.”

Mr. Solomon Bangs, his shirt-bosom crackling with importance, introduced the Congressman. The latter's address was, so the Item said, “a triumph of oratorical effort.” It really was a good speech, and when it touched upon the simple sacrifice of the men who had given up their lives in the course of what, to them, was everyday work, there were stifled sobs all through the hall. Luther Davis, during this portion of the address, sat with his big hand shading his eyes. Later on, when the speaker was sounding the praises of the man who “alone, forgetful of himself, braved the sea and the storm to save his friends,” those who looked at Captain Eri saw his chair hitched back, inch by inch, until, as the final outburst came, little more than his Sunday shoes was in sight. He had retired, chair and all, to the wings.

But they called him to the platform again and, amid—we quote from the Item once more—“a hurricane of applause,” the two heroes were adorned with the watches and the medals.

There was a sort of impromptu reception after the ceremony, when Captain Eri, with Mrs. Snow on his arm, struggled through the crowd toward the door.

“'Twas great, shipmate, and you deserved it!” declared magnanimous Captain Jerry, wringing his hand.

“'Tain't ha'f what you ought to have, Eri,” said Captain Perez.

“I haven't said much to thank you for savin' Luther,” whispered Miss Patience, “but I hope you know that we both appreciate what you done and never 'll forgit it.”

Ralph and Elsie also shook hands with him, and said some pleasant things. So did many others, Dr. Palmer among the number. Altogether, the journey through the hall was a sort of triumphal progress.

“Whew!” gasped the Captain, as they came out into the clear air and the moonlight, “let's hope that's the last of the dime-show bus'ness.”

“Eri,” whispered Mrs. Snow, “I'm so proud of you, I don't know what to do.”

And that remark was sweeter to the Captain's ears than all those that had preceded it.

They turned into the shore road and were alone. It was a clear winter night, fresh, white snow on the ground, not a breath of wind, and the full moon painting land and sea dark blue and silver white. The surf sounded faint and far off. Somewhere in the distance a dog was barking, and through the stillness came an occasional laugh or shout from the people going home from the hall.

“Lots of things can happen in a few months, can't they?” said Mrs. Snow, glancing at the black shadow of the shuttered Baxter homestead.

“They can so,” replied the Captain. “Think what's happened sence last September. I didn't know you then, and now it seems 's if I'd always known you. John was alive then, and Elsie nor Ralph hadn't come. Perez hadn't met Pashy neither. My! my! Everybody's choosed partners but Jerry,” he chuckled, “and Jerry looked the most likely candidate 'long at the beginnin'. I'm glad,” he added, “that Ralph's made up his mind to stay here. We shan't lose him nor Elsie for a few years, anyhow.”

They paused at the knoll by the gate.

“Fair day to-morrer,” observed the Captain, looking up at the sky.

“I hope it 'll be fair weather for us the rest of our days,” said Mrs. Snow.

“You've HAD it rough enough, that's sure. Well, I hope you'll have a smooth v'yage, now.”

The lady from Nantucket looked up into his face with a happy laugh.

“I guess I shall,” she said. “I know I've got a good pilot.”