Mr. Abner Stone, of Stone & Barker, marine outfitters and ship chandlers, with a place of business on Commercial Street in Boston, and a bank account which commanded respect throughout the city, was feeling rather irritable and out of sorts. Poor relations are always a nuisance. They are forever expecting something, either money—in Mr. Stone's case this particular expectation was usually fruitless—or employment or influence or something. Mr. Stone was rich, he had become so by his own ability and unaided effort. He was sure of that—often mentioned it, with more or less modesty, in the speeches which he delivered to his Sunday-school class and at the dinners of various societies to which he belonged. He was a self-made man and was conscious that he had done a good job.

Therefore, being self-made, he saw no particular reason why he should aid in the making of others. If people were poor they ought to get over it. Poverty was a disease and he was no doctor. He had been poor once himself, and no one had helped him. “I helped myself,” he was wont to say, with pride. Some of his rivals in business, repeating this remark, smiled and added that he had been “helping himself” ever since.

Mr. Stone had “washed his hands” of his cousin, Keziah Coffin, or thought he had. After her brother Solomon died she had written to him, asking him to find her a position of some kind in Boston. “I don't want money, I don't want charity,” wrote Keziah. “What I want is work. Can you get it for me, Abner? I write to you because father used to tell of what you said to him about gratitude and how you would never rest until you had done something in return for what he did for you.”

Captain Ben Hall's kindness was the one thing Mr. Stone forgot when he said no one had ever helped him. He disliked to be reminded of it. It was a long while ago and the captain was dead. However, being reminded, he had called upon a friend in the tailoring line and had obtained for Keziah the place of sewing woman. She decided to become housekeeper at the Trumet parsonage and so notified him. Then he washed his hands of her.

But now he was compelled to soil them again. Keziah had appeared at his office, without warning, and demanded that he find her a position. “Demanded” was the proper word. Certainly she had not begged. She seemed to feel that her demand was right and proper, and his acceding to it the least he could do.

“What a fine place you've got here, Abner!” she said, inspecting the office and the store. “I declare it's finer than the one you had when you first went into business, afore you failed. I wish father could have lived to see it. He'd have realized that his judgment was good, even though his investment wasn't.”

Captain Hall had invested largely in that first business, the one which failed. Mr. Stone changed the subject. Later in the day he again sought his friend, the tailor, and Keziah was installed in the loft of the latter's Washington Street shop, beside the other women and girls who sewed and sewed from seven in the morning until six at night. Mr. Stone had left her there and come away, feeling that an unpleasant matter was disposed of. He had made some inquiries as to where she intended staying, even added a half-hearted invitation to dinner that evening at his home. But she declined.

“No, thank you, Abner,” she said, “I'm goin' to find a boardin' place and I'd just as soon nobody knew where I was stayin', for the present. And there's one thing I want to ask you: don't tell a soul I am here. Not a soul. If anyone should come askin' for me, don't give 'em any satisfaction. I'll tell you why some day, perhaps. I can't now.”

This was what troubled Mr. Stone as he sat in his office. Why should this woman wish to have her whereabouts kept a secret? There was a reason for this, of course. Was it a respectable reason, or the other kind? If the latter, his own name might be associated with the scandal. He wished, for the fiftieth time, that there were no poor relations.

A boy came into the office. “There is some one here to see you, Mr. Stone,” he said.

“Who is it?”

“I don't know, sir. Looks like a seafaring man, a sea captain, I should say—but he won't give his name. Says it's important and nobody but you'll do.”

“Humph! All right. Tell him to wait. I'll be out in a minute.”

Sea captains and ship owners were Stone & Barker's best customers. The senior partner emerged from the office with a smile on his face.

“Ah!” he said, extending his hand. “Glad to see you, Captain—er—”

“Hammond,” replied the visitor. “Same to you, Mr. Stone.”

“Fine weather for this time of year.”

“Fine enough, Mr. Stone.”

“Well, Captain Hammond, what can we do for you? Going to sail soon?”

“Not right away. Just made port, less'n a week ago. Home looks good to me, for a spell, anyhow.”

“So? Yes, I have no doubt. Let me see—where is your home, captain? I should remember, of course, but—”

“Don't know why you should. This is my first trip in your latitude, I guess. My home's at Trumet.”

“Trumet?” Mr. Stone's tone changed.

“Yes. Trumet, down on the Cape. Ever been there? We think it's about as good a place as there is.”

“Hu-u-m! Trumet? Well, Captain Hammond, you wished to see me, I understand.”

“Yes. Fact is, Mr. Stone, I want to ask you where I can find Mrs. Keziah Coffin. She's a relation of yours, I b'lieve, and she's come to Boston lately. Only yesterday or the day afore. Can you tell me where she is?”

“Why do you wish to see her?”

“Oh, for reasons, personal ones. She's a friend of mine.”

“I see. No, captain, I can't tell you where she is. Good morning.”

Captain Nat was greatly disappointed.

“Hold on there, just a minute,” he begged. “This is important, you understand, Mr. Stone. I'm mighty anxious to find Kezi—Mrs. Coffin. We thought, some of her friends and I, that most likely you'd know where she was. Can't you give us any help at all? Hasn't she been here?”

“Good morning, Captain Hammond. You must excuse me, I'm busy.”

He went into the office and closed the door. Captain Nat rubbed his forehead desperately. He had been almost sure that Abner Stone would put him on Keziah's track. Grace had thought so, too. She remembered what the housekeeper had told concerning her Boston cousin and how the latter had found employment for her when she contemplated leaving Trumet, after her brother's death. Grace believed that Keziah would go to him at once.

Nat walked to the door and stood there, trying to think what to do next. A smart young person, wearing a conspicuous suit of clothes, aided and abetted by a vivid waistcoat and a pair of youthful but promising side whiskers, came briskly along the sidewalk and stopped in front of him.

“Well, sir?” observed this person, with cheerful condescension. “Anything I can do for you?”

Captain Nat turned his gaze upon the side whiskers and the waistcoat.

“Hey?” he queried.

“I say, is there anything I can do for you?”

The captain shook his head. “No-o,” he drawled dryly, “I'm afraid not, son. I admit that don't seem scarcely possible, but I am afraid it's so.”

“Looking for something in our line, was you?”

“Well, I don't know. What might be on your line—clothes?”

The bewhiskered one drew himself up. “I am connected with Stone & Barker,” he said sharply. “And, seeing you standing in our doorway, I thought possibly—”

“Yes, yes. Beg your pardon, I'm sure. No, I don't want to buy anything. I come to see Mr. Stone on a personal matter.”

“He's busy, I suppose.”

“So he says.”

The young man smiled with serene satisfaction. “I'm not surprised,” he observed complacently. “We ARE a busy house, Mr—er—”

“Hammond's my name. Are you Mr. Barker?”

“No-o, my name is Prince.”

“So? Silent partner in the firm, hey?”

“No-o, not exactly.” Mr. Prince was slightly embarrassed. “No, I am a—a salesman—at present. Was the matter you wished to see Mr. Stone about a very private one?”

“Middlin'.'”

“Well, I asked because Mr. Stone is a busy man and we like to save him all the—the—”

“Trouble you can, hey? That's nice of you, you must save him a lot, Mr—er—King, was it?”

“No, Prince.”

“Sure and sartin', Prince, of course. I knew 'twas connected with the royal family. Well, Mr. Prince, I'm afraid even you can't help me nor him out this time. I'm lookin' up a friend of mine, a widow lady from down the Cape. She's a relation of Mr. Stone's, and she's come to Boston durin' the last day or so. I thought likely he might know where she was, that's all. That would be a little out of your latitude, hey?”

“I don't know. Her name wasn't Coffin, was it?”

Captain Nat started. “It certainly was,” he answered eagerly. “How'd you know that?”

Mr. Prince's complacence was superb. “Oh,” he answered with condescension, “Mr. Stone trusts me with a good many of his personal affairs.”

“I should think likely he would. But about Mrs. Coffin? You was goin' to say?”

“She is with James Hallett & Co., the tailors, on Washington Street. Mr. Stone found a place for her there, I believe. I—er—er—superintended the carrying of her valise and—What?”

“Nothin', nothin'. Hum! Hallett & Co., tailors? What number Washin'ton Street did you say?”

Mr. Prince gave the number.

“Thank you a lot,” said Captain Nat, with fervor. “Good-by, Mr. Prince. Hope the next time I come you'll be in the firm. Good day, sir.”

“Good day. Nothing else I can do? And you won't wait for Mr. Stone? Very good. Is there any message for him that you would like to leave?”

“Hey?” Nat had started to go, but now he paused and turned. There was a grim twinkle in his eye. “Message?” he repeated. “Why, ye-es, I don't know but there is. You just give Mr. Stone Cap'n Hammond's compliments and tell him I'm lookin' forward to interviewin' him some time. Just tell him that, will you?”

“I'll tell him. Glad to have met you, Captain Hammond.”

The captain nodded solemnly. “Say, Mr. King,” he said, “you ain't half so glad as I am.”

Mr. Prince strutted into the store.

“Who was that chap you were talking with?” asked a fellow-clerk.

“Oh, a hayseed who wanted to see the old man. Poor relation, I guess. I headed him off. Stone is always telling us that time is money, so I saved both of 'em for him. He ought to thank me. Wouldn't be surprised if I got the raise I've been asking for.”

Mr. Prince did not get the raise, nor the thanks. But he was surprised.

In the workshop of Hallett & Co., Keziah sat sewing busily. The window near her was closed, stuck fast, and through the dingy panes she could see only roofs and chimneys. The other women and girls near her chatted and laughed, but she was silent. She did not feel like talking, certainly not like laughing. The garment she was at work on was a coat, a wedding coat, so the foreman had told her, with a smile; therefore she must be very particular.

She wondered idly whose coat it might be and who its future wearer was to marry. This reminded her of the minister and Grace. They would be happy now, her talk with Nat had assured her of that, and they, too, would be married one of these days. But she would not attend the wedding. She wondered what John had said when he read her note. He and Grace would be sorry for her, of course; but there was nothing they could do to help. No one could help her, no one. Perhaps by this time the man she had run away from had reached Trumet and her secret was known. How Didama and the rest would spread the tale! How Captain Elkanah and Annabel would sneer and exult! They hated her because she was the minister's friend. And Nat, poor fellow, what would he do? Well, at least he would understand now.

The narrow stairway leading up to the workshop ended in a little boxed-in room where the finished garments were hung to await the final pressing. From behind the closed door of this room came the sound of voices, apparently in heated argument. One of these voices was that of Larry, the errand boy. Larry was speaking shrilly and with emphasis. The other voice was lower in key and the words were inaudible.

“No, sir, you can't,” declared Larry. “You can't, I tell you. The boss don't let nobody in there and—Hold on! Hold on!”

The other voice made a short but evidently earnest answer. Larry again expostulated. The workers looked up from their sewing. The door opened and Larry appeared, flushed and excited.

“Where's Mr. Upham?” he demanded. “Mr. Upham!”

Upham was the foreman of the workroom. At the moment he was downstairs in conversation with the head of the house. A half dozen gave this information.

“What's the matter? Who is it?” asked several.

“I don't know who 'tis. It's a man and he's crazy, I think. I told him he couldn't come in here, but he just keeps comin'. He wants to see somebody named Coffin and there ain't no Coffins here.”

Keziah bent lower over the wedding coat. Her hand shook and she dropped the needle.

“I told him we didn't keep coffins,” declared Larry. “This ain't no undertaker's. Where's Mr. Upham?”

Keziah's nearest neighbor leaned toward her.

“I guess it's somebody to see you,” she said. “Your name is Coffin, ain't it?”

“No, no. That is, it can't be anybody to see me. I don't want to see anybody. Tell him so, whoever it is. I can't see anybody. I—NAT!”

He stood in the doorway, beckoning to her.

“Keziah,” he said, “come here. I want you. I'll tell you why in a minute. Come!”

She hesitated. In a measure she was relieved, for she had feared the man at the door might be her husband. But she was greatly agitated and troubled. Everyone in the place was looking at her.

“Nat,” she said, trying to speak firmly, “I can't see you now. I'm very busy. Please go away.”

“Come!”

“I can't come. Go away. Please!”

“Keziah, I'm waitin'. And I'm goin' to wait if I stay here all night. Come!”

She obeyed then. She could not have a scene there, before all those strangers. She stepped past him into the little room. He followed and closed the door.

“Nat,” she said, turning to him, “why did you come? How could you be so cruel? I—”

He interrupted her, but not with words. The next moment his arms were about her and she was pressed tight against the breast of his blue jacket.

“Keziah,” he whispered, “I've come to take you home. Home for good. No, stay where you are and I'll tell you all about it. Praise be to God! we're off the rocks at last. All that's left is to tow you into port, and, by the everlastin', that's what I'm here for!”

When Upham came up the stairs after his long interview with “the boss,” he found the door at the top closed. When he rattled the latch that door was opened by a stranger.

“Are you Mr. Hallett?” asked Captain Nat briskly.

“No, I'm not. Mr. Hallett is in his office on the first floor. But what—”

“On the main deck, hey? Well, all right; we won't trouble him. You'll do just as well; I judge you're one of the mates of this craft. You tell Mr. Hallett that this lady here has decided not to cruise with him any longer. No fault to find, you understand, but she's got a better berth. She's goin' to ship along with me. Ain't that so, Keziah?”

Keziah, pale, trembling, scarcely realizing the situation even yet, did not speak. But Captain Nat Hammond seemed to find his answer in her silence. A few minutes later, her arm in his, they descended the gloomy, dusty stairs, and emerged into the sunshine together.

That afternoon Mr. Abner Stone again “washed his hands” of his poor relation—this time, as he indignantly declared, “for good and all.”