laughed mournfully. "I guess it is rather funny, afterall."
"It certainly is. Now will you leave me and go back to your parsonage?"
"Not unless you take the umbrella."
"Very well. It is a beautiful evening for a walk, don't you think so?Mr. Ellery, I'm afraid we shan't have you with us in Trumet very long."
"Why not?"
"Oh, because you're so very, very original. Are your sermons that way,too? Captain Elkanah doesn't like his ministers to be too original."
The minister set his teeth. At that moment he felt an intense desireto bid the Daniels family mind their own business. Then another thoughtstruck him.
"Possibly your Uncle Eben might be somewhat--er--surprised if heknew you were with me. Perhaps he might have something to say on thesubject."
"I guess he would. We shall know very soon. I ran away and left him withMrs. Poundberry, our housekeeper. He doesn't know where I am. I wonderhe hasn't turned back to look for me before this. We shall probably meethim at any moment."
She seemed to enjoy the prospect of the meeting. Ellery wondered what onearth he should say to Captain Hammond--that is, provided he was allowedto say anything.
Suddenly a heavier gust of rain and wind beat upon them. The ministerstruggled with the umbrella. The gust passed and with it the fog. Aninstant before it had been all about them, shutting them within inkywalls. Now it was not. Through the rain he could see the shadowysilhouettes of bushes at the road side. Fifty yards away the lightedwindows of the Hammond tavern gleamed yellow. Farther on, over a ragged,moving fringe of grass and weeds, was a black flat expanse--the bay. Anda little way out upon that expanse twinkled the lights of a vessel. Achain rattled. Voices shouting exultingly came to their ears.
"Why!" exclaimed Grace in excited wonder, "it's the packet! She was duethis morning, but we didn't expect her in till to-morrow. How did shefind her way in the fog? I must tell uncle."
She started to run toward the house. The minister would have followedwith the umbrella, but she stopped him.
"No, Mr. Ellery," she urged earnestly. "No, please don't. I'm all rightnow. Thank you. Good night."
A few steps farther on she turned.
"I hope Cap'n Elkanah won't know," she whispered, the laugh returning toher voice. "Good night."
Ellery stood still in the rain and watched her. He saw her pass thelighted windows and open a door. Into the yellow radiance she flashedand disappeared. A minute more and the bulky form of Eben Hammond,lantern in hand, a sou'wester on his head and his shoulders workingthemselves into an oilskin coat, burst out of the door and hurriedlylimped down toward the shore. On the threshold, framed in light, stoodhis ward, gazing after him. And the minister gazed at her.
From the bay came the sound of oars in row-locks. A boat was approachingthe wharf. And suddenly from the boat came a hail.
"Halloo! Ahoy, dad! Is that you?"
There was an answering shout from the wharf; a shout of joy. Thena rattle of oars and a clamor of talk. And Grace still stood in thedoorway, waiting.
The lantern bobbed up the slope. As it reached the tavern gateway, theminister saw that it was now carried by a tall, active man, who walkedwith a seaman's stride and roll. Captain Eben was close beside him,talking excitedly.
They entered the yard.
"Grace! Grace!" screamed Captain Eben. "Gracie, girl, look who's come!Look!"
The tall man ran forward.
"Hi, Grace!" he cried in a deep, hearty voice. "Is that you? Ain't yougot a word for your old messmate?"
The girl stepped out into the rain.
"Why! why, NAT!" she cried.
The big man picked her up bodily in his arms and carried her into thehouse. Captain Eben followed and the door closed.
John Ellery picked his way homeward through the puddles and the pouringrain.
He found Keziah in the sitting room, seated by the table, evidentlywriting a letter. She looked tired and grave--for her.
"Well!" she exclaimed as he entered. "I guess you're soppin' now, sartinsure. There's a light in your room. Take off your wet things and throw'em down to me, and I'll dry 'em in the kitchen. Better leave your bootshere now and stand that umbrella in the sink. The kettle's on the stove;you'd better have somethin' hot--ginger tea or somethin'. I told you notto go out such a night as this. Where in the world have you been?"
The minister said he would tell her all about it in the morning. Justnow he thought he had better go up and take off his wet clothes. Hedeclined the ginger tea, and, after removing his boots, went upstairs tohis room.
Keziah dipped her pen in the ink and went on with her letter.
"I inclose ten dollars," she wrote. "It is all I can send you now. Morethan I ought to afford. Goodness knows why I send anything. You don'tdeserve it. But while I live and you do I can't--"
The minister called from the landing.
"Here is my coat," he said. "The cuffs and lower part of the sleeves arepretty wet. By the way, the packet came in to-night. They didn't expecther so soon on account of the fog. There was a passenger aboard whom Ithink must be that Nathaniel Hammond you told me of."
Keziah's pen stopped. The wet coat struck the hall floor with a softthump. The tick of the clock sounded loud in the room. A sheet ofwind-driven rain lashed the windows.
"Did you hear?" called the minister. "I said that Nathaniel Hammond,Captain Eben's son, came on the packet. I didn't meet him, but I'm sureit was he. Er--Mrs. Coffin, are you there? Do you hear me?"
The housekeeper laid the pen down beside the unfinished letter.
"Yes," she said, "I hear you. Good night."
For minutes she sat there, leaning back in her chair and staring at thewall. Then she rose, went into the hall, picked up the coat, and took itout into the kitchen, where she hung it on the clotheshorse by the cookstove. After a while she returned to the table and took up the pen. Herface in the lamplight looked more tired and grave than ever.
It was a long time before John Ellery fell asleep. He had much to thinkof--of the morrow, of the talk his rash visit to the chapel would cause,of the explanation he must make to Captain Elkanah and the rest. But thepicture that was before his closed eyes as he lay there was neither ofCaptain Elkanah nor the parish committee; it was that of a girl, withdark hair and a slim, graceful figure, standing in a lighted doorway andpeering out into the rain.
CHAPTER VI
IN WHICH OLD FRIENDS MEET
When Ellery came down to breakfast the rain was over, the wind hadgone down, and the morning sunshine was pouring in at the dining-roomwindows. Outside the lilacs were in bud, the bluebirds were singing, andthere was a sniff of real spring in the air. The storm was at an end andyet the young minister was conscious of a troublesome feeling that, forhim, it was just beginning.
However, he had determined while dressing to make a clean breast of itto his housekeeper--a nominally clean breast, that is. There were somethings he would not tell her, some that he would not speak of to anyone,the picture in the doorway for instance. True, it was only a pictureand of no moment, but it was pleasant to remember. One of the very fewpleasant things connected with the previous evening.
So, as they sat opposite each other at the table, he began hisconfession. The muffins scorched in the oven and the coffeepot boiledover as he told his story, for Keziah was too much interested to thinkof trifles. Interested and astounded, for, since Come-Outers had beenCome-Outers and the split in the society took place, no Regular ministerhad crossed the threshold of a seceder's dwelling, much less attendedtheir services and walked home with a member of their congregation. Sheknew what this amazing procedure was likely to mean, if her parson didnot.
"Well!" she exclaimed when the recital was finished. "Well!"
"I--I'm afraid I was too hasty," observed Mr. Ellery thoughtfully."Perhaps it would have been wiser not to have done it."
"Perhaps 'twould. Yes, I wouldn't wonder a mite."
"It will be talked about some, I suppose. Don't you think so?"
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br /> "Some, yes."
"I'm afraid some of my own people may think it queer."
"Queer! Say, Mr. Ellery, you remind me of a half-breed Portugeefeller--half Portugee and a half Indian--that went to sea with myfather, back in the old days. He hardly ever spoke a word, mainlygrunted and made signs. One day he and another fo'mast hand went aloftin a calm to do somethin' to the tops'l. The half-breed--they called himBilly Peter and he always called himself that--was out on the end ofthe yard, with his foot on the rope underneath, I forget the name of it,when the tarred twine he had for a shoe string caught. Tryin' to getit loose it broke sudden, his shoe pulled off, he
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