Far out on the Pacific coast there are two small islands, perhaps a hundred miles distant from one another. The first of these is uninhabited. On the other is a little colony of English-speaking people, half-breed descendants of native women and the survivors of a crew from a British vessel cast away there in the latter part of the eighteenth century.

On the first of these islands, the smaller one, the Sea Mist had been wrecked. Driven out of her course by a typhoon, she staggered through day after day and night after night of terrific wind and storm until, at last, there was promise of fair weather. Captain Nat, nearly worn out from anxiety, care, and the loss of sleep, had gone to his stateroom and the first mate was in charge. It was three o'clock, the wind still blowing and the darkness pitchy, when the forward lookout shrieked a warning, “Breakers under the lee!” Almost the next instant the ship was on a coral reef, full of water, and the seas breaking over her from stem to stern.

Morning came and showed a little patch of land, with palm trees and tropical vegetation waving in the gusts and green in the sunshine. Captain Nat ordered the boats to be lowered. Much as he hated the thought, he saw that the Sea Mist had made her last voyage and must be abandoned. He went to the cabin, collected papers and charts and prepared to leave. The ship's money, over ten thousand dollars in gold belonging to the owner and to be used in trade and speculation among the East Indies, he took with him. Then the difficult and dangerous passage through the opening in the reef was begun.

Only the captain's boat reached the shore. The mate's was caught by a huge breaker, dashed against the reef and sunk. Captain Nat, his second mate and five of his men were all that was left of the Sea Mist's company. And on that island they remained for nearly two weeks. Provisions they had brought ashore with them. Water they found by digging. Nat hid the gold at night, burying it on the beach below high-water mark.

Then, having made sure of his location by consulting the chart, he determined to attempt a voyage to the second island, where he knew the English colony to be. Provisions were getting short, and to remain longer where they were was to risk starvation and all its horrors. So, in the longboat, which was provided with a sail, they started. Charts and papers and the gold the skipper took with them. None of the crew knew of the existence of the money; it was a secret which the captain kept to himself.

A hundred miles they sailed in the longboat and, at last, the second island was sighted. They landed and found, to their consternation and surprise, that it, too, was uninhabited. The former residents had grown tired of their isolation and, a trading vessel having touched there, had seized the opportunity to depart for Tahiti. Their houses were empty, their cattle, sheep, goats, and fowl roamed wild in the woods, and the fruit was rotting on the trees. In its way the little island was an Eyeless Eden, flowing with milk and honey; but to Captain Nat, a conscientious skipper with responsibilities to his owners, it was a prison from which he determined to escape. Then, as if to make escape impossible, a sudden gale came up and the longboat was smashed by the surf.

“I guess that settles it,” ruefully observed the second mate, “another Cape Codder, from Hyannis. Cal'late we'll stay here for a spell now, hey, Cap'n.”

“For a spell, yes,” replied Nat. “We'll stay here until we get another craft to set sail in, and no longer.”

“Another craft? ANOTHER one? Where in time you goin' to get her?”

“Build her,” said Captain Nat cheerfully. Then, pointing to the row of empty houses and the little deserted church, he added, “There's timber and nails—yes, and cloth, such as 'tis. If I can't build a boat out of them I'll agree to eat the whole settlement.”

He did not have to eat it, for the boat was built. It took them six months to build her, and she was a curious-looking vessel when done, but, as the skipper said, “She may not be a clipper, but she'll sail anywhere, if you give her time enough.” He had been the guiding spirit of the whole enterprise, planning it, laying the keel, burning buildings, to obtain nails and iron, hewing trees for the largest beams, showing them how to spin ropes from cocoa-nut fiber, improvising sails from the longboat's canvas pieced out with blankets and odd bits of cloth from the abandoned houses. Even a strip of carpet from the church floor went into the making of those sails.

At last she was done, but Nat was not satisfied.

“I never commanded a ship where I couldn't h'ist Yankee colors,” he said, “and, by the everlastin'! I won't now. We've got to have a flag.”

So, from an old pair of blue overalls, a white cotton shirt, and the red hangings of the church pulpit, he made a flag and hoisted it to the truck of his queer command. They provisioned her, gave her a liberal supply of fresh water, and, one morning, she passed through the opening of the lagoon out to the deep blue of the Pacific. And, hidden in her captain's stateroom under the head of his bunk, was the ten thousand dollars in gold. For Nat had sworn to himself, by “the everlasting” and other oaths, to deliver that money to his New York owners safe and, necessary expenses deducted of course, untouched.

For seven weeks the crazy nondescript slopped across the ocean. Fair winds helped her and, at last, she entered the harbor of Nukahiva, over twelve hundred miles away. And there—“Hammond's luck,” the sailors called it—was a United States man-of-war lying at anchor, the first American vessel to touch at that little French settlement for five years. The boat they built was abandoned and the survivors of the Sea Mist were taken on board the man-of-war and carried to Tahiti.

From Tahiti Captain Nat took passage on a French bark for Honolulu. Here, after a month's wait, he found opportunity to leave for New York on an American ship, the Stars and Stripes. And finally, after being away from home for two years, he walked into the office of his New York owners, deposited their gold on a table, and cheerfully observed, “Well, here I am.”

That was the yarn which Trumet was to hear later on. It filled columns of the city papers at the time, and those interested may read it, in all its details, in a book written by an eminent author. The tale of a Cape Cod sea captain, plucky and resourceful and adequate, as Yankee sea captains were expected to be, and were, in those days.

But Trumet did not hear the yarn immediately. All that it heard and all that it knew was contained in Captain Nat's brief telegram. “Arrived to-day. Will be home Thursday.” That was all, but it was enough, for in that dispatch was explosive sufficient to blow to atoms the doctor's plans and Keziah's, the great scheme which was to bring happiness to John Ellery and Grace Van Horne.

Dr. Parker heard it, while on his way to Mrs. Prince's, and, neglecting that old lady for the once, he turned his horse and drove as fast as possible to the shanty on the beach. Fast as he drove, Captain Zebedee Mayo got there ahead of him. Captain Zeb was hitching his white and ancient steed to the post as the doctor hove in sight.

“By mighty!” the captain exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, “I'm glad enough you've come, doctor. I hated to go in there alone. You've heard, of course.”

“Yes, I've heard.”

“Say, ain't it wonderful! I'm tickled all up one side and sorry all down t'other. Nat's a true-blue feller, and I'm glad enough that he ain't shark bait; but what about the minister and her? She's promised to Nat, you know, and—”

“I know. Don't I know! I've been going over the affair and trying to see a way out ever since I heard of the telegram. Tut! tut! I'm like you, mighty glad Hammond is safe, but it would have spared complications if he had stayed wherever he's been for a few months longer. We would have married those two in there by that time.”

“Sartin we would. But he didn't stay. Are you goin' to tell Mr. Ellery?”

“Certainly not. And I hope he hasn't been told. He's getting well fast now, but he mustn't be worried, or back he'll go again. We must see Mrs. Coffin. Keziah is our main hold. That woman has got more sense than all the rest of us put together.”

But it was Grace, not Keziah, who opened the shanty door in answer to their knock. She was pale and greeted them calmly, but it was evident that her calmness was the result of sheer will power.

“Won't you come in, doctor?” she asked. “Good afternoon, Captain Mayo.”

Dr. Parker entered the building, but Captain Zeb remained outside, stammering that he cal'lated he'd better stay where he could keep an eye on his horse. This was such a transparent excuse that it would have been funny at any other time. No one smiled now, however.

“Is—is Mrs. Coffin—er—Keziah aboard?” the captain asked.

“No, she isn't. She went to the parsonage a few hours ago. Mr. Ellis brought the mail and there was a letter in it for her. She said it was important and that she must go home to see about some things. She'll be back pretty soon, I suppose.”

The doctor whispered her name then and she went inside, closing the door after her. Captain Zebedee sat down on the step to ponder over the new and apparently insurmountable difficulty which had arisen. As he said afterwards, “The more I tried to get an observation, the thicker it got. Blamed if I could see anything but fog, but I could hear—I could hear Elkanah and his gang gigglin', ahead, astern and off both bows.”

Parker found his patient sleeping soundly and had not disturbed him. Returning to the living room he spoke to Grace.

“Humph!” he grunted, watching her from under his brows, “everything seems to be all right in there. He hasn't been excited or anything like that?”

“No.”

“That's good. He mustn't be. You understand that? He mustn't be told anything that will upset him. He's getting well fast and I want it to continue.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Hum! Er—have you heard—Has anyone been here?”

“Yes. I have heard. The telegram came and I answered it.”

“You did? Well, it's a miracle and we're all thankful, of course. Did you—er—er—”

“Doctor, I must go home. I mustn't stay here any longer.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not. I must be at home when he comes. You must get some one to take my place. Aunt Keziah will stay, of course, and perhaps Mrs. Higgins would come, or Hannah Poundberry. She—”

“Not if I know it. I'd as soon have a hay-cutter running in here as Hannah's tongue. I could stop a hay-cutter when it got too noisy. Well, if you must go, you must, I suppose. But stay through tomorrow, at any rate. Nat won't get here until Thursday, and I may be able to find another nurse by that time. And what I shall say to him,” motioning toward the other room, “I don't know.”

“Must you say anything? Just say that I have been called away for a few days on—on some business. Don't tell him. Don't tell him the truth, doctor, now. He is too weak and I am afraid—”

She stopped and turned away. The doctor watched her pityingly.

“Cheer up,” he said. “At any rate, this is only for a little while. When the captain knows, if he's the man I take him for, he'll—”

She whirled like a flash. “You're not going to tell him?” she cried. “No, no! You mustn't. You must promise me you won't. Promise.”

“Somebody'll tell him. Telling things is Trumet's specialty.”

“Then you must stop it. No one must tell him—no one except me. I shall tell him, of course. He must hear it from me and not from anyone else. He would think I was disloyal and ungrateful—and I am! I have been! But I was—I COULDN'T help it. You know, doctor, you know—”

“Yes, yes, I know. Well, I'll promise, but it will all come out right, you see. You mustn't think I—we—have been interfering in your affairs, Grace. But we've all come to think a whole lot of that parson of ours and what he wanted we wanted him to have, that's all.”

“I know. Thank you very much for all your kindness, and for your promise.”

He would have liked to say much more, but he could not, under the circumstances. He stammered a good-by and, with a question concerning Mrs. Coffin's whereabouts, went out to join Captain Zeb.

“Well?” queried the latter anxiously. “How is it? What's up? What's the next tack?”

“We'll go to the parsonage,” was the gloomy answer. “If anybody can see a glimmer in this cussed muddle Keziah Coffin can.”

Keziah was on her knees in her room, beside a trunk, the same trunk she had been packing the day of the minister's arrival in Trumet. She was working frantically, sorting garments from a pile, rejecting some and keeping others. She heard voices on the walk below and went down to admit the callers.

“What's the matter, Keziah?” asked Dr. Parker sharply, after a look at her face. “You look as if you'd been through the war. Humph! I suppose you've heard the news?”

Keziah brushed back the hair from her forehead. “Yes,” she answered slowly. “I've heard it.”

“Well, it's great news, and if it wasn't for—if things weren't as they are, I'd be crowing hallelujahs this minute. Trumet has got a good man safe and sound again, and the Lord knows it needs all of that kind it can get.”

“Yes.”

“Yes. But there's the other matter. I've been to see Grace. She didn't say so, but it was easy enough to see; the man she promised to marry and thought was dead, is alive. She's a girl of her word—she promised him and she promised her dying uncle—and she'll marry him. And then what will become of John Ellery? He'll go downhill so fast that a ship's anchor wouldn't hold him. If he doesn't die I'll have to send him away somewhere, and the Regular church will lose the minister we've fought so hard for.”

“Yes,” concurred Zebedee, “and them blasted Danielses'll run the shebang and the rest of us'll have to sing small, I tell you.”

“So we've come to you, Keziah,” went on the doctor. “Do you see any salvation?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You do? Where?”

“In Nat Hammond. If he knows Grace doesn't want to marry him, do you suppose he'll hold her to her promise?”

“I don't know. I'm not so sure. Men don't give up girls like that so easy. I wouldn't—by George, I wouldn't! And she won't tell him the whole truth, I'm afraid. She'll pretend to be glad—hang it! she IS glad—to have him home again and—”

“Of course she's glad. Ain't we all glad and happy and thankful? We ought to be. But”—she hesitated—“doctor, you leave this to me. So far as John and Grace are concerned you needn't worry. I'll take it on myself to see that they have each other, as the Almighty meant 'em to. Leave it to me. Just leave it to me. I KNOW I can do it.”

She would not say more, nor tell on what grounds she based her optimism. She would go back to the shanty that evening, she said, and stay until the following afternoon. Grace would undoubtedly go to the old tavern to prepare for the homecoming. Let Mrs. Higgins take her place as nurse.

“I shall have to leave, myself,” she added, “for a little while; so perhaps you'd better try to get somebody else to help the Higgins woman. Don't ask me any questions, please don't, and be sure not to say a word to anybody—most of all to Grace. Just do as I tell you and leave it to me. And don't come and see me again until after—after he comes home. Good-by, doctor. Good-by, Cap'n Zeb.”

She shook hands with each of them, a rather unusual proceeding as they thought of it afterwards. Then they went away and left her.

“Humph!” mused Parker, as they came out at the gate. “Humph! She seems sure, doesn't she. And yet she doesn't act like herself. Did you notice that?”

“Yup. I noticed it. But I expect Nat's droppin' out of the clouds shook her up, same as it done the rest of us. Well, never mind. She's a bully good, capable woman and what she says she'll do she gen'rally does. I'm bettin' on her. By time! I feel better.”

Captain Elkanah Daniels and his friends were feeling better also, and they were busy. Trumet had a new hero now. On Wednesday the Boston papers printed excerpts from Captain Hammond's story, and these brief preliminary accounts aroused the admiration of every citizen. It was proposed to give him a reception. Elkanah was the moving spirit in the preparations. Captain Nat, so they learned by telegraphing, would arrive on the noon train Thursday. His was not to be a prosaic progress by stage all the way from Sandwich. A special carriage, drawn by the Daniels span and escorted by other vehicles, was to meet the coach at Bayport and bring him to Trumet in triumphant procession. All this was to be a surprise, of course.

Wednesday afternoon the Daniels following was cheered by the tidings that Grace Van Horne had left the beach and was at her old home, the Hammond tavern. And Mrs. Poundberry reported her busy as a bee “gettin' things ready.” This was encouraging and indicated that the minister had been thrown over, as he deserved to be, and that Nat would find his fiancee waiting and ready to fulfill her contract. “Reg'lar whirligig, that girl,” sniffed Didama Rogers. “If she can't have one man she'll take the next, and then switch back soon's the wind changes. However, most likely she never was engaged to Mr. Ellery, anyhow. He's been out of his head and might have said some fool things that let Dr. Parker and the rest b'lieve he was in love with her. As for pickin' of him up and totin' him back to the shanty that night, that wa'n't nothin' but common humanity. She couldn't let him die in the middle of the lighthouse lane, could she?”

Thursday was a perfect day, and the reception committee was on hand and waiting in front of the Bayport post office. The special carriage, the span brushed and curried until their coats glistened in the sunshine, was drawn up beside the platform. The horses had little flags fastened to their bridles, and there were other and larger flags on each side of the dashboard. Captain Daniels, imposing in his Sunday raiment, high-collared coat, stock, silk hat and gold-headed cane, sat stiffly erect on the seat in the rear. The other carriages were alongside, among them Captain Zebedee Mayo's ancient chaise, the white horse sound asleep between the shafts. Captain Zeb had not been invited to join the escort, but had joined it without an invitation.

“I guess likely I'd better be on hand,” the captain confided to Dr. Parker. “Maybe I can stop Elkanah from talkin' too much about—well, about what we don't want him to talk about, and besides, I'm just as anxious to give Nat a welcome home as the next feller. He's a brick and we're all proud of him. By mighty! I'd like to have seen that craft he built out of cocoanuts and churches—I would so.”

Kyan Pepper was there also, not yet fully recovered from the surprise which Lavinia's gracious permission had given him. Abishai had been leaning disconsolately over his front gate early that morning when Noah Ellis, the lightkeeper, jogged down the lane.

“'Mornin', 'Bish,” hailed Noah, pulling up his horse. “What's the matter? You look bluer'n a spiled mack'rel. What's the row? Breakfast disagree with you?”

“Naw,” replied Kyan shortly. “Where you bound, all rigged up in your shore duds?”

“Bound to Bayport, to see Nat Hammond land,” was the cheerful answer. “I ain't had a day off I don't know when, and I thought I'd take one. Be great doin's over there, they tell me. Elkanah's goin' to make a speech and there's eighteen teams of folks goin'.”

“I know it. I wisht I was goin', too, but I never have no fun. Have to stay to home and work and slave over them consarned tax papers. Sometimes I wish there wa'n't no taxes.”

“Humph! I've wished that, myself, more'n once. Why don't you go, if you want to? Climb right aboard here with me. Plenty of room.”

“Hey? You mean that? By godfreys mighty! I'd like to.”

“Sartin, I mean it. Come ahead.”

Mr. Pepper sadly shook his head. “I guess likely I'd better not,” he sighed. “Laviny might not like to have me leave her.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks! she won't mind. I'll take care of you. It's perfectly safe. There ain't goin' to be no women around. Haw! haw! haw!”

He was still laughing at his own joke when through the slats of the closed blinds shading the Pepper house parlor a shrill voice was heard speaking.

“Go ahead, 'Bishy dear,” called Lavinia. “Go ahead and go. A change of air'll do you good.”

Kyan whirled and clutched at the gate.

“HEY?” he shouted in amazement.

“Are you deef? Or is Mr. Ellis laughin' so hard that you can't hear? What is it that's so funny, Mr. Ellis?”

The light-keeper shut off his laughter by a sudden and rather frightened gulp.

“Oh, nothin', nothin', Miss Pepper. Nice day, ain't it?”

“I guess so. I ain't had time to look at it yet. I have to work. I can't let my wife do it for me, like some folks, and take 'days off.' What was it you was laughin' at, Mr. Ellis?”

“Nothin', nothin' at all.”

“Hum! They used to tell me there was only one kind of person who laughed at nothin'. Well, 'Bish Pepper, what are you standin' there for? If you're goin', come right into the house and change your clothes this minute.”

Kyan obeyed. Shortly he reappeared, clothed like a lily of the field, one that had long since gone to seed. He clambered up beside Noah and they drove off.

“Jerushy!” exclaimed the lightkeeper. “This is kind of unexpected, ain't it? What's got into her to make her so accommodatin'?”

“Godfreys mighty!” was the dazed reply, “I don't know. This as fast as you can drive? Hurry up, afore she changes her mind.”

So it happened that Mr. Pepper was in Bayport with the rest, awaiting the stage which was bringing Trumet's latest celebrity from Sandwich.

“Here she comes!” shouted Ezra Simmons, the postmaster. “Right on time, too.”

Sure enough! A cloud of dust in the distance, rising on the spring wind, and the rattle of rapidly turning wheels. The reception committee prepared for action. Captain Elkanah descended from the carriage and moved in stately dignity to the front of the post-office platform.

“Hum—ha!” he barked, turning to his followers. “Be ready now. Give him a good cheer, when I say the word. Let it be hearty—hearty, yes.”

The stage, its four horses at a trot, swung up to the platform.

“Whoa!” roared the driver.

“Now!” ordered Elkanah. “One—two—Hurrah!”

“Hurrah!” shouted the committee, its uninvited guests and the accompanying crowd of Bayport men and boys which had gathered to assist in the welcome. “Hurrah!”

“Hooray!” yelled Kyan, a little behind, as usual.

A passenger or two peered from the coach window. The stage driver ironically touched his cap.

“Thank ye,” he said. “Thank ye very much. I've been hopin' for this for a long time, though I'd about given up expectin' it. I'm very much obliged. Won't somebody please ask me to make a speech?”

Captain Elkanah frowned his disapproval.

“We are cheering Cap'n Nathaniel Hammond of Trumet,” he explained haughtily. “We are here to meet him and escort him home.”

The driver sighed. “You don't say,” he said. “And I thought my merits had been recognized at last. And 'twas all for Cap'n Hammond? Dear! dear!”

He winked at Simmons, who wanted to laugh, but did not dare.

“Come! come!” said Captain Elkanah. “Where is he? Where's Cap'n Hammond?”

“Well, now, I'll tell ye; I don't know where he is.”

“You DON'T? Isn't he with you?”

“No, he ain't. And he didn't come on the train, nuther. He WAS on it. The conductor told me he see him and set along with him between stations as fur as Cohasset Narrows. But after that he never see hide nor hair of him. Oh, that's so! Here's the mail bag, Ezry.”

Captain Elkanah looked at the reception committee and it looked at him. Here was a most disconcerting setback for all the plans. The committee, after asking more, and fruitless questions, went into executive session.

Captain Zeb stepped beside the stage and put one foot on the wheel.

“Say, Thad,” he whispered, “is that all you know? Where did he go to?”

“Can't tell you, cap'n. The conductor says he see him afore they got to Cohasset Narrows and not after. Naturally, we s'pose he got off there. Pretty good joke on old Daniels, I call it. Serve him right, figgerin' to take a passenger away from me. He, he!”

“But you do know more, now don't you? Tell a feller—come! I don't like Elkanah any better'n you do.”

“Well,” the driver's voice dropped still lower. “Well,” he whispered, “I did hear this much, though don't you tell none of them: A chap I know was on the train and he said he see Cap'n Nat get off the cars at the Cohasset Narrows depot and there was a woman with him.”

“A woman? A WOMAN? What woman?”

“Blessed if I know! And he didn't nuther. So long! Git dap!”

The reception committee and its escort drove slowly back to Trumet. The Daniels following was disgusted and disappointed. Captain Elkanah had figured upon keeping Hammond under his own wing until he was safely deposited at the old tavern. Grace was there and Elkanah meant that these two should meet before any inkling of Ellery's story reached Nat's ears. Incidentally, he could drop a few damaging hints concerning the minister's character. To hurt Ellery all he could and prejudice Hammond against him—that was the plan, and now it was frustrated. The captain had not put in an appearance and no one knew where he was or when he would come home. Obviously, there was nothing to do except give up the reception and await further news from the missing man.

Some of those present wished to remain in Bayport until night. Another train was due in Sandwich and, possibly, Nat might come on that. They could telegraph and find out whether or not he did come, and if he did, could send a carriage for him. But this suggestion was overruled. The reception was off.

The homeward journey had some unpleasant incidents. Several Come-Outers had driven over. Nat belonged to them, so they felt—he was the son of their dead founder and leader—and they determined the Regulars should not have him all to themselves. They had come to bid him welcome on behalf of the worshipers at the chapel. Now they took advantage of the general disappointment to make sarcastic and would-be-humorous remarks loud enough for the majestic occupant of the decorated carriage to hear.

“Seems to me,” said Thoph Black, “that them flags ought to be ha'f mast. That craft's in distress.”

“S-sh-h!” counciled his companion, another Come-Outer. “Don't be irreverent. Look who's cruisin' under 'em. That's the King of Trumet. Let's you and me go ahead and fire salutes, Thoph.”

Captain Elkanah wrathfully ordered the flags to be removed from the horses' heads and from the dashboard.

As Noah Ellis and his passenger turned into the lighthouse lane another vehicle turned out of it.

“Who was that?” queried Kyan. “Looked like one of the livery stable horses to me.”

“'Twa'n't. 'Twas Thankful Payne's and that was her carriage, too. It's gettin' so dark I couldn't see who was drivin' it, but 'twas a man, anyhow.”

Kyan seemed to be pondering. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “I wonder if that cousin of hers from Sandwich is here visitin'. That Caleb Pratt, seems to me his name is.”

“Don't know. Why?”

“Nothin', nothin'. I just wondered, that was all. That might explain why she let me—”

“Hey?”

“Nothin'. Good night, Noah. I'm much obliged to you for takin' me over, even if there wa'n't no reception.”

Trumet spent that evening wondering what had become of Nat Hammond. Captain Zeb Mayo wondered most of all. Yet his wonderment was accompanied by vague suspicions of the truth. And, at eleven o'clock, when the village was in bed, a horse and buggy moved down the Turn-off and stopped before the Hammond gate. A man alighted from the buggy and walked briskly up to the side door. There he knocked and then whistled shrilly.

A window overhead was opened.

“Who is it?” asked a feminine voice.

“Don't be frightened, Gracie,” replied the man at the door. “It's me—Nat. I've come home again.”