Mrs. Beasley departed next morning, taking with her the extra month's wages, in spite of fervid avowals that she wouldn't touch a cent of it. On the way to the depot she favored Mr. Lumley with sundry hints concerning the reasons for her departure. She "couldn't stand it no longer"; if folks only knew what she'd had to put up with she cal'lated they'd be some surprised; she could "tell a few things" if she wanted to, and so on. Incidentally she was kind of glad she didn't like the place, because now she cal'lated she should go West and visit her niece; they'd been wanting her to come for so long.

Gabe was much interested and repeated the monologue, with imaginative additions, to the depot master, who, in turn, repeated it to his wife when he went home to dinner. That lady attended sewing circle in the afternoon. Next day a large share of Bayport's conversation dealt with the housekeeper's leaving and her reasons therefor. The reasons differed widely, according to the portion of the town in which they were discussed, but it was the general opinion that the whole affair was not creditable to Captain Whittaker.

Only at the perfect boarding house was the captain upheld. Miss Phinney declared that she knew he had made a mistake as soon as she heard the Beasley woman talk; n.o.body else, so Angeline declared, could "get a word in edgeways." Mrs. Tripp sighed and affirmed that going out of town for a woman to do housework was ridiculous on the face of it; there were plenty of Bayport ladies, women of capability and sound in their religious views, who might be hired if they were approached in the right way. Keturah gave, as her opinion, that if the captain knew when he was well off, he would "take his meals out." Asaph snorted and intimated that that Debby Beasley wasn't fit to "keep house in a pigsty, and anybody but a born gump would have known it." Bailey, the "born gump,"

said nothing, but looked appealingly at his chum.

As for Captain Cy, he did not take the trouble to affirm or deny the rumors. Peace and quiet dominated the Whittaker house for the first time in three weeks and its owner was happier. He cooked his own food and washed his own dishes. The runaway cat ventured to return, found other viands than beans in its saucer, and decided to remain, purring thankful contentment. The captain made his own bed, after a fashion, when he was ready to occupy it, but he was conscious that it might be better made.

He refused, however, to spend his time in sweeping and dusting, and the dust continued to acc.u.mulate on the carpets and furniture. This condition of affairs troubled him, but he kept his own counsel. Asaph and Bailey called often, but they offered no more suggestions as to hiring a housekeeper. Mr. Tidditt might have done so, but the captain gave him no encouragement. Mr. Bangs, recent humiliation fresh in his mind, would as soon have suggested setting the house on fire.

One evening Asaph happened in, on his way to Simmons's. He desired the captain to accompany him to that gathering place of the wise and talkative. Captain Cy was in the sitting room, a sheet of note paper in his hand. The town clerk entered without ceremony and tossed his hat on the sofa.

"Evenin', Ase," observed the captain, folding the sheet of paper and putting it into his pocket. "Glad you come. Sit down. I wanted to ask you somethin'."

"All right! Here I be. Heave ahead and ask."

Captain Cy puffed at his pipe. He seemed about to speak and then to think better of it, for he crossed his legs and smoked on in silence, gazing at the nickel work of the "base-burner" stove. It was badly in need of polishing.

"Well?" inquired Asaph, with impatient sarcasm. "Thinkin' of askin' me to build a fire for you, was you? n.o.body else but you would have set up a stove in summer time, anyhow."

"Hey? No, you needn't start a fire yet awhile. That necktie of yours 'll keep us warm till fall, I shouldn't wonder. New one, ain't it? Where'd you get it?"

Mr. Tidditt was wearing a crocheted scarf of a brilliant crimson hue, particularly becoming to his complexion. The complexion now brightened until it was almost a match for the tie.

"Oh!" he said, with elaborate indifference. "That? Yes, it's new.

Yesterday was my birthday, and Matildy Tripp she knew I needed a necktie, so she give me this one."

"Oh! One she knit purpose for you, then? Dear me! Look out, Ase. Widow women are dangerous, they say; presents are one of the first baits they heave out."

"Don't be foolish, now! I couldn't chuck it back at her, could I? That would be pretty manners. You needn't talk about widders--not after Debby! Ho! ho!"

Captain Cy chuckled. Then he suddenly became serious.

"Ase," he said, "you remember the time when the Howes folks had this house? Course you do. Yes; well, was there any of their relations here with 'em? A--a cousin, or somethin'?"

"No, not as I recollect. Yes, there was, too, come to think. A third cousin, Mary Thayer her name was. I THINK she was a third cousin of Betsy Howes, Seth Howes's second wife. Betsy's name was Ginn afore she married, and the Ginns was related on their ma's side to a Richards--Emily Richards, I think 'twas--and Emily married a Thayer.

Would that make this Mary a third cousin? Now let's see; Sarah Jane Ginn, she had an aunt who kept a boardin' house in Harniss. I remember that, 'count of her sellin' my Uncle Bije a pig. Seems to me 'twas a pig, but I ain't sure that it mightn't have been a settin' of Plymouth Rock hens' eggs. Anyhow, Uncle Bije KEPT hens, because I remember one time--"

"There! there! we'll be out of sight of land in a minute. This Mary Thayer--old, was she?"

"No, no! Just a young girl, eighteen or twenty or so. Pretty and nice and quiet as ever I see. By G.o.dfrey, she WAS pretty! I wan't as old as I be now, and--"

"Ase, don't tell your heart secrets, even to me. I might get absent-minded and mention 'em to Matildy. And then--whew!"

"If you don't stop tryin' to play smarty I'll go home. What's Matildy Tripp to me, I'd like to know? And even when Mary Thayer was here I was old enough to be her dad. But I remember what a nice girl she was and how the boarders liked her. They used to say she done more than all the Howes tribe put together to make the Sea Sight House a good hotel. Young as she was she done most of the housekeepin' and done it well. If the rest of 'em had been like her you mightn't have had the place yet, Whit.

But what set you to thinkin' about her?"

"Oh, I don't know! Nothin' much; that is--well, I'll tell you some other time. What became of her?"

"She went up to New Hampshire along with the Howes folks and I ain't seen her since. Seems to me I did hear she was married. See here, Whit, what is it about her? Tell a feller; come!"

But Captain Cy refused to gratify his chum's lively curiosity. Also he refused to go to Simmons's that evening, saying that he was tired and guessed he'd stay at home and "turn in early." Mr. Tidditt departed grumbling. After he had gone the captain drew his chair nearer the center table, took from his pocket a sheet of notepaper, and proceeded to read what was written on its pages. It was a letter which he had received nearly a month before and had not yet answered. During the past week he had read it many times. The writing was cramped and blotted and the paper cheap and dingy. The envelope bore the postmark of a small town in Indiana, and the inclosure was worded as follows:

CAPTAIN CYRUS WHITTAKER.

DEAR SIR: I suppose you will be a good deal surprised to hear from me, especially from way out West here. When you bought the old house of Seth, he and I was living in Concord, N. H. He couldn't make a go of his business there, so we came West and he has been sick most of the time since. We ain't well off like you, and times are hard with us. What I wanted to write you about was this. My cousin Mary Thomas, Mary Thayer that was, is still living in Concord and she is poor and needs help, though I don't suppose she would ask for it, being too proud. False pride I call it. Me and Seth would like to do something for her, but we have a hard enough job to keep going ourselves. Mary married a man by the name of Henry Thomas, and he turned out to be a miserable good-for-nothing, as I always said he would. She wouldn't listen to me though. He run off and left her seven year ago last April, and I understand was killed or drowned somewheres up in Montana. Mary and [several words scratched out here] got along somehow since, but I don't know how. While we lived in Concord Seth sort of kept an eye on her, but now he can't of course. She's a good girl, or woman rather, being most forty, and would make a good housekeeper if you should need one as I suppose likely you will. If you could help her it would be an act of charity and you will be rewarded Above. Seth says why not write to her and tell her to come and see you? He feels bad about her, because he is so sick I suppose. And he knows you are rich and could do good if you felt like it. Her father's name was John Thayer. I wouldn't wonder if you used to know her mother. She was Emily Richards afore she married and they used to live in Orham.

Yours truly,

ELIZABETH HOWES.

P.S.--Mary's address is Mrs. Mary Thomas, care Mrs. Oliver, 128 Blank Street, Concord, N. H.

N.B.--Seth won't say so, but I will: we are very hard up ourselves and if you could help him and me with the loan of a little money it would be thankfully received.

Captain Cy read the letter, folded it, and replaced it in his pocket.

He knew the Howes family by reputation, and the reputation was that of general sharpness in trade and stinginess in money matters. Betsy's personal appeal did not, therefore, touch his heart to any great extent.

He surmised also that for Seth Howes and his wife to ask help for some person other than themselves premised a darky in the woodpile somewhere.

But for the daughter of Emily Richards to be suggested as a possible housekeeper at the Cy Whittaker place--that was interesting, certainly.

When the captain was not a captain--when he was merely "young Cy," a boy, living with his parents, a dancing school was organized in Bayport.

It was an innovation for our village, and frowned upon by many of the older and stricter inhabitants. However, most of the captain's boy friends were permitted to attend; young Cy was not. His father considered dancing a waste of time and, if not wicked, certainly frivolous and nonsensical. So the boy remained at home, but, in spite of the parental order, he practiced some of the figures of the quadrilles and the contra dances in his comrades' barns, learning them at second hand, so to speak.

One winter there was to be a party in Orham, given by the Nickersons, wealthy people with a fifteen-year-old daughter. It was to be a grand affair, and most of the boys and girls in the neighboring towns were invited. Cy received an invitation, and, for a wonder, was permitted to attend. The Bayport contingent went over in a big hayrick on runners and the moonlight ride was jolly enough. The Nickerson mansion was crowded and there were music and dancing.

Young Cy was miserable during the dancing. He didn't dare attempt it, in spite of his lessons in the barn. So, while the rest of his boy friends sought partners for the "Portland Fancy" and "Hull's Victory" he sat forlorn in a corner.

As he sat there he was approached by a young lady, radiant in muslin and ribbons. She was three or four years older than he was, and he had worshipped her from afar as she whirled up and down the line in the Virginia Reel. She never lacked partners and seemed to be a great favorite with the young men, especially one good-looking chap with a sunburned face, who looked like a sailor.

They were forming sets for "Money Musk"; it was "ladies' choice," and there was a demand for more couples. The young lady came ever to Cy's corner and laughingly dropped him a courtesy.

"If you please," she said, "I want a partner. Will you do me the honor?"

Cy blushingly avowed that he couldn't dance any to speak of.

"Oh, yes, you can! I'm sure you can. You're the Whittaker boy, aren't you? I've heard about your barn lessons. And I want you to try this with me. Please do. No, John," she added, turning to the sunburned young fellow who had followed her across the room; "this is my choice and here is my partner. Susie Taylor is after you and you mustn't run away. Come, Mr. Whittaker."

So Cy took her arm and they danced "Money Musk" together. He made but a few mistakes, and these she helped him to correct so easily that none noticed. His success gave him courage and he essayed other dances; in fact, he had a very good time at the party after all.

On the way home he thought a great deal about the pretty young lady, whose name he discovered was Emily Richards. He decided that if she would only wait for him, he might like to marry her when he grew up.

But he was thirteen and she was seventeen, and the very next year she married John Thayer, the sailor in the blue suit. And two years after that young Cy ran away to be a sailor himself.

In spite of his age and his lifetime of battering about the world, Captain Cy had a sentimental streak in his makeup; his rejuvenation of the old home proved that. Betsy's letter interested him. He had made guarded inquiries concerning Mary Thayer, now Mary Thomas, of others besides Asaph, and the answers had been satisfactory so far as they went; those who remembered her had liked her very much. The captain had even begun a letter to Mrs. Thomas, but laid it aside unfinished, having, since Bailey's unfortunate experience with the widow Beasley, a prejudice against experiments.

But this evening, before Mr. Tidditt called, he had been thinking that something would have to be done and done soon. The generally shiftless condition of his domestic surroundings was getting to be unbearable.

Dust and dirt did not fit into his mental picture of the old home as it used to be and as he had tried to restore it. There had been neither dust nor dirt in his mother's day.

He meditated and smoked for another hour. Then, his mind being made up, he pulled down the desk lid of the old-fashioned secretary, resurrected from a pile of papers the note he had begun to Mrs. Thomas, dipped a sputtering pen into the ink bottle and proceeded to write.