Time has wrought many changes in Trumet. The packet long since ceased to ply between the village and Boston, the stage has been superseded by the locomotive, the old “square-riggers,” commanded by Cape Cod men, no longer sail the seas. Along the main road the houses have changed hands. Didama Rogers peers no more from her parlor window; that parlor is now profaned by the frivolous and irreverent summer boarder. But the old residents love to talk of the days that are gone and if you happen to catch Mr. Isaac Higgins, now postmaster and a dignified member of the board of selectmen, in a reminiscent mood he will very likely tell you of the meeting of the parish committee called by its chairman, Elkanah Daniels, to oust the Rev. John Ellery from the pulpit of the Regular church.

“I'll never forget,” says Mr. Higgins, “that parish committee meetin' if I live a thousand year. I, and two or three other young shavers, was hid in the little room off the vestry—the room where they kept the dishes they used for church suppers—and we heard the whole business. Of course nobody knew that Nat was goin' to marry Keziah then, but they did know that he wa'n't goin' to marry Grace Van Horne, and had given her up to the minister of his own accord. So Daniels's guns was spiked and he didn't stand no chance at all. However, you'd never have guessed it to look at him. He marched into that meetin' and up to the platform as stiff and dignified as if he'd swallered a peck of starch. He called the meetin' to order—'twas a full one, for all hands and the cook was there—and then got up to speak.

“He opened fire right off. He raked John Ellery fore and aft. The parson, he said, had disgraced the society and his sacred profession and should be hove overboard immediate. 'Twas an open secret, he said. Everybody knew how he, minister of a Reg'lar church, had been carryin' on with a Come-Outer girl, meetin' her unbeknownst to anyone, and so on. As he got warmed up on this subject he got more bitter and, though he didn't come out open and say slanderous things, his hints was as nigh that as a pig's snout is to his squeal. Even through the crack of the dish-closet door I could see the bristles risin' on the back of Cap'n Zeb Mayo's neck.

“At last Cap'n Zeb couldn't stand it no longer.

“'Belay there!' he sings out, jumpin' to his feet. 'I want to ask you one question, Elkanah Daniels: Are you tryin' to say somethin' against Grace Van Horne's character?'

“Well, that was a sort of sticker, in a way, and I cal'late Daniels realized it. He 'hum-ha'd' and barked a little and then give in that he couldn't swear the Van Horne person's character wa'n't all right, but—”

“'Couldn't swear!' snorts Zeb. 'You better not try to, not when the minister or Nat's around. Aw, belay! you want us to fire John Ellery out of this society—the best minister it ever had or ever will have—because he had the sense to get sweet on a good clean girl and the spunk to ask her to marry him. And you're down on her because she's been brought up in a Come-Outer family—at least, that's the reason you give out, though some of us have suspicions 'tain't the real one. Why! she risked what she thought was smallpox to keep him from dyin' that night she picked him up, ravin' distracted, in the middle of the lighthouse lane, and if he hadn't married her after that I, for one, would have been willin' to vote to give him his walkin' papers, Come-Outer she may have been, but, by time, she's got religion that's good enough for me and I'll be proud to see her the wife of my minister. Don't let's have no more chin music. We know what you want and what you called this meetin' for; now let's vote on it.'

“Three or four sung out 'Question' and 'Vote.' But Elkanah held up his hand.

“'Gentlemen,' says he, 'before I ask for the vote I want to say just one word. I've worshiped in this meetin' house ever sence I was a child. I was christened in it; my father worshiped here afore me; I've presided over the meetin's of this body for years. But I tell you now that if you vote to keep that rascally hypocrite in your pulpit I shall resign from the committee and from the society. It'll be like cuttin' off my right hand, but I shall do it. Are you ready for the vote? Those in favor of retaining the present minister of this parish will rise. Those opposed will remain seated.'

“Every man on the floor stood up. Daniels himself was the only one that stayed settin' down.

“'It is a vote,' says he, white as a sheet, and his voice trembling. 'Gentlemen, I bid you good day.'

“He took up his hat and cane, give one look around the vestry, as if he was sayin' good-by to it, and marched down the aisle as straight and starchy as he'd come into it. Only, when he reached the door, he put up one hand as if he was steadyin' himself. There was precious few in that vestry that liked Elkanah Daniels, but I'm bettin' high there wa'n't a one who didn't feel sorry for him then.

“'Twas quiet as could be for a minute or so after he'd gone. Then Cap'n Zeb draws a big breath and flings up his hand.

“'Shipmates,' says he, 'this is the Almighty's house and we've got to do it quiet, but I propose three whisperin' cheers for the Rev. John Ellery and the lady that's goin' to be his wife.'

“So they give 'em—hearty, too, if they was whispered—and that's all there is to that meetin' worth tellin' about.”

Captain Daniels and his daughter moved to Boston that summer. They never came back to Trumet to live. Annabel remained single until after her father's death; then she married a man very much younger and poorer than she was. It was remarked by acquaintances of the couple that the difference in age became less and less apparent as their married life continued.

“Humph!” observed Captain Zeb, summing up the situation, “he started about ten year astern, but he'll beat her on the run into the cemetery, now you mark my words. Annabel's temper's cal'lated to keep any average chap drivin' on that course, bows under. There's a three-reef breeze blowin' off her tongue, day and night.”

On a Sunday morning, a few weeks after the committee meeting, the Regular church was crowded. John Ellery was to preach his first sermon since the San Jose came ashore. Every member of the congregation was present. Even Mrs. Prince, feeble but garrulous, was there. Gaius Winslow, having delivered his brood of children at the church door, made a special trip in his carryall to fetch the old lady. Captain Zebedee and Mrs. Mayo beamed from their pew. Dr Parker and his wife smiled at them across the aisle. Didama Rogers's new bonnet was a work of art and her neck threatened to twist itself off as she turned to see each one who came in.

Lavinia Pepper sailed to the front. She was dressed in a new black alpaca which rustled so very much like silk that nearsighted people might have been deceived by it. With her was a man, apparently suffering from strangulation because of the height and tightness of his collar. “It's Caleb Pratt, from Sandwich,” whispered Didama. “Thankful Payne's relation, you know. Have you heard what folks are sayin'? I guess it's true, because—Look at Kyan! you'd think he was goin' to his own funeral.”

Abishai's expression was not cheerful, certainly. He followed Mr. Pratt and his sister to the Pepper pew and subsided sadly in the corner next the wall. Occasionally he was observed to wipe his forehead and once—it was during the prayer—he groaned audibly. Lavinia's dig in the ribs prevented his repeating the sound, but, judging by his looks, he continued to groan in spirit.

There was a stir at the door. All heads swung in that direction—all but Mr. Pepper's, that is. The minister and Grace were coming up the aisle and behind them came Captain Nat Hammond and Keziah Coffin. Nat was smiling and self-possessed. Never before in his life had he entered the Regular meeting house as a worshiper, but he seemed to be bearing the ordeal bravely. It was Grace's first visit to the church, also, and she was plainly embarrassed. To be stared at by eighty-odd pairs of eyes, and to catch whispered comments from the starers' tongues, is likely to embarrass one.

Yet the comments were all friendly.

“I declare!” whispered Mrs. Prince, “I never see her look so pretty afore. I knew she was the best lookin' girl in this town, but I never realized she was SUCH a beauty. Well, there's one thing sartin'—we've got the handsomest parson and parson's wife in THIS county, by about ten mile and four rows of apple trees. And there's the other bride that's goin' to be. I never see Keziah look so well, neither.”

Keziah did look well. Her parson had emerged triumphant from his battle with disease and adverse fate and was more than ever the idol of his congregation. He was to marry the girl of his choice—and hers. The housekeeper's ears were still ringing with the thanks of John and Grace. Both seemed to feel that to her, Keziah Coffin, more than anyone else, they owed their great joy. Some of the things they said she would never forget. And her own life, too, was freed forever of its burden, the secret which had hung over her for so many years. Only a very few knew that secret, and they would not disclose it. Toward the memory of the man buried in the stranger's lot at the cemetery she felt almost kindly now. While he lived she had feared and dreaded him, now she was beginning to forgive. For he had paid his debt with his life, and with her, beside her, was the other, the one whom she had loved, had given up, had mourned for, and who was now to be hers always. No wonder Keziah looked well. She was happy, and happiness is a wondrous beautifier.

The minister went up the stairs to the pulpit. He was still white and thin, but his eyes were bright and his voice clear. He gave out the opening hymn and the service began.

They said it was the finest sermon ever preached in that church, and perhaps it was. When it was over, before the benediction was pronounced, Ellery stepped out from behind the pulpit to the edge of the platform. He looked over the friendly faces upturned to his and, for an instant, it seemed that he could not trust himself to speak.

“My friends,” he said, “I cannot let you go without a personal word. I owe you so much, all of you, that nothing I can say will convey to you my feeling of gratitude and love for this congregation and this church. You have stood by me all through. You trusted me and believed in me. I came to Trumet a stranger. I have found here the truest friends a man could hope to find—yes, and more than friends. If I live, and while I live, I shall hope to prove by the best effort that is in me my realization of the great debt I owe you and my desire to repay it, even though the payment must, of necessity, be so inadequate. God bless you all—and thank you.”

“Wa'n't it lovely!” gushed Didama. “And when he said that about true friends he was lookin' straight at Gracie all the time.”

“Didn't seem to me so,” declared Gaius Winslow. “I thought he was lookin' at Cap'n Hammond.”

“Well, now, that's queer,” put in Mrs. Parker, the doctor's wife. “I would have sworn he was looking at Keziah Coffin.”

Captain Zebedee grinned. “I cal'late you're all right,” he observed. “I wouldn't wonder if he was lookin' at all of 'em.”

There was much hand shaking and congratulation and the church emptied slowly. Among the last to leave were the Peppers and Mr. Pratt. Lavinia took the minister aside.

“Mr. Ellery,” she simpered, “I've—that is, Caleb and me—will prob'ly want you to—That is, we want you to be the one—”

“Yes, Miss Pepper?”

“Oh, my sakes! you see—'Bishy dear, come here a minute, won't you?”

Kyan approached, the picture of desolation.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

“Heavens to Betsy! Don't look so sour. A body'd think you was goin' to be hung, to look at you. 'Bishy, you tell Mr. Ellery all about it, there's a dear. He'll tell you, Mr. Ellery; and remember we count on you. Neither me nor Caleb wont have nobody else.”

She seized Mr. Pratt by the arm and led him hastily away. Kyan looked after them.

“Hung?” he muttered. “I wish, by godfreys mighty, I had the hangin' of SOME folks! I'd put a tighter collar on 'em than they've got now, I bet you!”

The minister's lips twitched. He knew what was coming. Hints of a surprising nature had been circulating about Trumet.

“What's the matter, Mr. Pepper?” he asked.

“Matter? Matter enough! You know what she's goin' to do? She's goin' to marry THAT!”

The last word was emphasized by a furious gesticulation toward the back of the gentleman from Sandwich.

“Who? Mr. Pratt? Is your sister to marry him? Indeed! I congratulate them both—and you.”

“Me? What in tunket—I ask your pardon, Mr. Ellery, for talkin' so in the meetin' house—but what are you congratulatin' me for?”

“Why, because your sister is to have a good husband; at least people speak highly of him.”

“Ugh!”

“And because—well, Mr. Pepper, you have been quite confidential with me; we have shared secrets, you know; and I thought possibly the new arrangement might make it a bit more pleasant for you.”

“Pleasant? How?”

“I suppose Mr. Pratt will take his bride home to Sandwich, and you, being here alone, will be more free.”

“Free?” Kyan repeated the word wrathfully. “Free! I'll be about as free as a settin' hen under a barrel, I will. Is a feller free when he's got two pickin' at him instead of one? I thought I was goin' to have a little peace and comfort; I thought that same as you, Mr. Ellery. I've had my suspicions as to her and him for some time. That day when I cal'lated I'd locked her up and come back to find she'd gone buggy ridin', I thought 'twas queer. When she went to conference and left me alone I smelt a rat. When she took to letter writin' the smell got stronger; until the last few weeks I've been sartin of the game she was up to. And I never complained, no sir! Some brothers would have ripped up the eternal foundations afore they'd have let their sister break up their home and desert 'em for a stiff-necked, bald-headed old shoe peddler like—”

“Hush! hush! Mr. Pepper. You forget—”

“No, I don't forget, nuther. Mr. Ellery, you don't know it all. When Laviny come to me and told me what she was goin' to do, was I obstinate? Did I stand on my rights as head of the family and tell her she couldn't do it? No, sir-ee, I didn't! I was resigned. I says to her, 'Laviny,' I says, 'I won't say that I shan't be turrible lonesome without you. I won't say that I ain't sort of shocked and grieved at our partin' after all these years. But what's my personal feelin's when I compare 'em with your happiness? Nothin', nothin' at all!' I says. 'Bless you, Laviny,' says I. 'When you goin' to go away?' And what do you s'pose she says to me? Why, that she wa'n't goin' away at all. That—that Pratt thing has sold out his shoe store up to Sandwich and is comin' here to live. Comin' to live at our HOUSE, mind you, with her and with ME! ''Twill be so nice for you, 'Bishy dear,' she says, 'to have a man in the house to keep you comp'ny and look out for you when I ain't round.' Godfreys mighty!”

This portion of Kyan's disclosure was surprising, if the announcement of his sister's engagement was not.

“Mr. Pratt is coming to Trumet?” the minister repeated. “What for? What is he going to do here?”

“Keep shoe store, I s'pose likely. Laviny says there's a good openin' for one in this town. I told her the best openin' I could think of for him was the well and I hoped to the nation he'd fall into it. Then she went for me like a dogfish after a herrin' and I never had a taste of vittles till I'd took it all back and said I was glad he was goin' to live with us. Free! Don't talk to me about freedom! Godfreys mighty!”

Ellery smothered his desire to laugh and expressed sympathy. Abishai listened in sullen silence.

“Well,” he said, turning to go, “I ain't goin' to stand it, if I can help it. I've been doin' some thinkin' on my own account and there's two ways of gettin' even. That Caleb critter is marryin' into our family 'cause he knows I'm well off. I'll cheat him, by godfreys! I'll will every cent of my fifteen hundred dollars to the poor or the heathen or somethin'. I will, sure's taxes.”

The minister was obliged to laugh, then.

“I wouldn't do that,” he said. “From what I hear, Mr. Pratt is worth several times fifteen hundred.”

“I know it; but he's so dum mean that 'twould break his heart to see even ten cents gettin' away from him. However, that ain't my only plan. He and Laviny ain't got any mortgage on the marryin' business. Other folks can do it as well as them. What do you think of Hannah Poundberry?”

“What do I think of her? What do you mean?”

“Never mind what I mean. Just you keep that in your head, Mr. Ellery. You remember that I asked you, as man to man, 'What do you think of Hannah Poundberry?'—Yes, yes, Laviny, I'm a-comin'. They want me to ask you to marry 'em,” he added. “I s'pose you'll have to. But say, Mr. Ellery, when you do, just tell Pratt that your usual price for the job is ten dollars. That'll spile his honeymoon for him, or I miss my guess.”

He turned away and moved sulkily toward his beckoning sister and her escort; but wheeled once more to add, in a mysterious whisper, “Don't you forget now, Mr. Ellery. Remember that question I put to you: 'What do you think of'—Yes, yes, La-viny, I hear you!—of you know who?'”

That evening, at the parsonage, Keziah was clearing the table and Captain Nat was helping her. A happy party of four had enjoyed the meal, John and Mrs. Coffin acting as hosts and Grace and the captain being the invited guests. Now the younger couple had gone over to the church, the bell of which was ringing for evening service.

“Hurry up, Keziah,” urged Nat. “If you and me don't get decks cleared pretty soon we'll be late for meetin', and I'd hate to do that, considerin' I'm such a brand-new disciple, as you might say. What do we do next, shorten sail? Like this, hey?”

He pulled the cloth from the table, sending the crumbs flying in all directions, and proceeded to fold it, after a fashion.

“There!” he exclaimed with satisfaction; “there she is, canvas furled and under bare poles. Now we can clear out, can't we? What's the matter?”

Keziah took the cloth from his hands and refolded it.

“Nat Hammond,” she said, laughing, “you may be a good sailor, but you're an awful poor housekeeper. Look at the mess you've made of that floor.”

Nat looked at the scattered crumbs and shook his head.

“By the everlastin'!” he observed, “I did make dirty weather on that tack, didn't I? Cal'late I ain't much of a housekeeper, same as you say. Maybe that's why I was so dreadful anxious to get a good one to cruise along with me. Well, I've got her. I'm satisfied.”

He walked to the back door of the kitchen, threw it open, and stood looking out.

“Keziah,” he said, “come here a minute.”

She came from the dining room and stood at his side. He put an arm about her.

“Look off there,” he said, pointing with his free hand. “See that?”

The sun was just setting and all the west was gorgeous with crimson and purple and yellow. The bay was spangled with fire, the high sand bluffs along the shore looked like broken golden ingots. The fields and swamps and salt meadows, rich in their spring glory of bud and new leaf, were tinged with the ruddy glow. The Trumet roofs were bathed in it, the old packet, asleep at her moorings by the breakwater, was silhouetted against the radiance. The church bell had ceased to ring and there was not a sound, except the low music of the distant surf.

“Look at it, Keziah,” urged Captain Nat.

“I'm lookin', Nat,” she answered. “It's beautiful.”

“Ain't it? I love it, you know that, and I never thought I should be anxious for the time to come when I must leave it. But I am. I want to go.”

They were to be married in another month. It would be a double wedding, for Grace and the minister were to be married at the same time. Then Nat and his wife were to go to New York, where a new ship, just out of the builders' hands, was to be ready for him. She was a fine one, this successor to the Sea Mist. She had been building for more than a year and when Captain Hammond returned, safe and sound, and with their money in his possession, the owners decided at once that he should command the addition to their fleet. She was to sail for Liverpool and Keziah was to be a passenger.

“I can't hardly wait to get to sea,” went on Nat. “Think of it! No more lonesome meals in the cabin, thinkin' about you and about home. No, sir! you and home'll be right aboard with me. Think of the fun we'll have in the foreign ports. London, and you and me goin' sightseein' through it! And Havre and Gibraltar and Marseilles and Genoa and—and—by and by, Calcutta and Hong Kong and Singapore. I've seen 'em all, of course, but you haven't. I tell you, Keziah, that time when I first saw a real hope of gettin' you, that time after I'd learned from John that that big trouble of yours was out of the way forever, on my way up to Boston in the cars I made myself a promise—I swore that if you did say yes to me I'd do my best to make the rest of your life as smooth and pleasant as the past so far had been rough. I ain't rich enough to give you what you deserve, nowhere near; but I'll work hard and do my best, my girl—you see.”

Keziah was looking out over the bay, her eyes brighter than the sunset. Now she turned to look up into his face.

“Rich!” she repeated, with a little catch in her voice. “Rich! there never was a woman in this world so rich as I am this minute. Or so happy, either.”