The interview with the Reverend Perley that followed this conversation must have been effective, for the sermon was surprisingly brief and as surprisingly calm. In fact, so rational was it that a few of the more extreme among the preacher's following were a bit disappointed and inquired anxiously as to their leader's health, after the ceremony was over.
The procession of carryalls and buggies followed the hearse to the cemetery among the pines, and, as the mourners stood about the grave, the winter wind sang through the evergreen branches a song so like the roar of the surf that it seemed like a dirge of the sea for the mariner who would sail no more. As they were clearing away the supper dishes that night Captain Eri said to Mrs. Snow, "Well, John's gone. I wonder if he's happier now than he has been for the last ten years or so."
"I think he is," was the answer.
"Well, so do I, but if he hadn't been a 'Come Outer' I don't s'pose Brother Perley and his crowd would have figgered that he had much show.
Seems sometimes as if folks like that--reel good-hearted folks, too, that wouldn't hurt a fly--git solid comfort out of the feelin' that everybody that don't agree with 'em is bound to everlastin' torment. I don't know but it's wicked to say it, but honest, it seems as if them kind would 'bout as soon give up the hopes of Heaven for themselves as they would the satisfaction of knowin' 'twas t'other place for the other feller."
To which remark the somewhat shocked housekeeper made no reply.
The following day Elsie went back to her school. Captain Eri walked up with her, and, on the way, told her of his discovery of her secret, and of his interview with "Web" Saunders. It was exactly as the Captain had surmised. The note she had received on the evening of the return from the life-saving station was from the proprietor of the billiard saloon, and in it he hinted at some dire calamity that overshadowed her grandfather, and demanded an immediate interview. She had seen him that night and, under threat of instant exposure, had promised to pay the sum required for silence. She had not wished to use her grandfather's money for this purpose, and so had taken the position as teacher.
"Well," said the Captain, "I wish you'd have come to me right away, and told me the whole bus'ness. 'Twould have saved a pile of trouble."
The young lady stopped short and faced him.
"Captain Eri," she said, "how could I? I was sure grandfather had set the fire. I knew how ill he was, and I knew that any shock might kill him. Besides, how could I drag you into it, when you had done so much already? It would have been dreadful. No, I thought it all out, and decided I must face it alone."
"Well, I tell you this, Elsie; pretty gin'rally a mean dog 'll bite if he sees you're afraid of him. The only way to handle that kind is to run straight at him and kick the meanness out of him. The more he barks the harder you ought to kick. If you run away once it 'll be mighty uncomf'table every time you go past that house. But never mind; I cal'late this p'tic'lar pup won't bite; I've pulled his teeth, I guess.
What's your plans, now? Goin' to keep on with the school, or go back to Boston?"
Miss Preston didn't know; she said she had not yet decided, and, as the schoolhouse was reached by this time, the Captain said no more.
There was, however, another question that troubled him, and that seemed to call for almost immediate settlement. It was: What should be done with Mrs. Snow? The housekeeper had been hired to act as such while John Baxter was in the house. Now he was gone, and there remained the original marriage agreement between Captain Jerry and the widow, and honor called for a decision one way or the other. Mrs. Snow, of course, said nothing about it, neither did Captain Jerry, and Captain Eri felt that he must take the initiative as usual. But, somehow, he was not as prompt as was his wont, and sat evening after evening, whittling at the clipper and smoking thoughtfully. And another week went by.
Captain Perez might, and probably would, have suggested action upon this important matter, had not his mind been taken up with what, to him, was the most important of all. He had made up his mind to ask Patience Davis to marry him.
Love is like the measles; it goes hard with a man past fifty, and Captain Perez was severely smitten. The decision just mentioned was not exactly a brand-new one, his mind had been made up for some time, but he lacked the courage to ask the momentous question. Something the lady had said during the first stages of their acquaintance made a great impression on the Captain. She gave it as her opinion that a man who loved a woman should be willing to go through fire and water to win her.
Captain Perez went home that night pondering deeply.
"Fire and water!" he mused. "That's a turrible test. But she's a wonderful woman, and would expect it of a feller. I wonder if I could do it; seems 's if I would now, but flesh is weak, and I might flunk, and that would settle it. Fire and water! My! my! that's awful!"
So the Captain delayed and Miss Patience, who had cherished hopes, found need of a good share of the virtue for which she was named.
But one afternoon at the end of the week following that of the funeral, Perez set out for a call upon his intended which he meant should be a decisive one. He had screwed his courage up to the top notch, and as he told Captain Eri afterwards, he meant to "hail her and git his bearin's, if he foundered the next minute."
He found the lady alone, for old Mrs. Mayo had gone with her son, whose name was Abner, to visit a cousin in Harniss, and would not be back until late in the evening. Miss Patience was very glad to have company, and it required no great amount of urging to persuade the infatuated swain to stay to tea. When the meal was over--they washed the dishes together, and the Captain was so nervous that it is a wonder there was a whole plate left--the pair were seated in the parlor. Then said Captain Perez, turning red and hesitating, "Pashy, do you know what a feller told me 'bout you?"
Now, this remark was purely a pleasant fiction, for the Captain was about to undertake a compliment, and was rather afraid to shoulder the entire responsibility.
"No; I'm sure I don't, Perez," replied Miss Davis, smiling sweetly.
"Well, a feller told me you was the best housekeeper in Orham. He said that the man that got you would be lucky."
This was encouraging. Miss Patience colored and simpered a little.
"Land sake!" she exclaimed. "Whoever told you such rubbish as that?
Besides," with downcast eyes, "I guess no man would ever want me."
"Oh, I don't know." The Captain moved uneasily in his chair, as if he contemplated hitching it nearer to that occupied by his companion.
"I guess there's plenty would be mighty glad to git you. Anyhow, there's--there's one that--that--I cal'late the fog's thick as ever, don't you?"
But Miss Patience didn't mean to give up in this way.
"What was it you was goin' to say?" she asked, by way of giving the bashful one another chance.
"I was goin' to say, Pashy, that--that--I asked if you thought the fog was as thick as ever."
"Oh, dear me! Yes, I s'pose likely 'tis," was the discouraged answer.
"Seems to me I never see such weather for this time of year. The ice is all out of the bay, and there ain't a bit of wind, and it's warm as summer, pretty nigh. Kind of a storm-breeder, I'm afraid."
"Well, I'm glad you're here to keep me comp'ny. I've never been sole alone in this house afore, and I should be dreadful lonesome if you hadn't come." This was offered as a fresh bait.
"Pashy, I've got somethin' I wanted to ask you. Do you think you could--er--er--"
"What, Perez?"
"I wanted to ask you"--the Captain swallowed several times--"to ask you--What in the nation is that?"
"Oh, that's nothin' only the hens squawkin'. Go on!"
"Yes, but hens don't squawk this time of night 'thout they have some reason to. It's that fox come back; that's what 'tis."
Miss Patience, earlier in the evening, had related a harrowing tale of the loss of two of Mrs. Mayo's best Leghorns that had gone to furnish a Sunday meal for a marauding fox. As the said Leghorns were the pride of the old lady's heart, even the impending proposal was driven from Miss Davis' mind.
"Oh, Perez! you don't s'pose 'tis the fox, do you?"
"Yes, MA'AM, I do! Where's the gun?"
"There 'tis, behind the door, but there ain't a mite of shot in the house. Abner's been goin' to fetch some from the store for I don't know how long, but he's always forgot it."
"Never mind. I'll pound the critter with the butt. Come quick, and bring a lamp."
The noise in the henyard continued, and when they opened the door it was louder than ever.
"He's in the henhouse," whispered Miss Patience. "He must have gone in that hole at the side that had the loose board over it."
"All right," murmured the Captain. "You go 'round with the lamp and open the door. That 'll scare him, and I'll stand at the hole and thump him when he comes out."
So, shielding the lamp with her apron, the guardian of Mrs. Mayo's outraged Leghorns tiptoed around to the henhouse door, while Captain Perez, brandishing the gun like a club, took up his stand by the hole at the side.
Without the lamp the darkness was pitchy. The Captain, stooping down to watch, saw something coming out of the hole--something that was alive and moved. He swung the gun above his head, and, bringing it down with all his might, knocked into eternal oblivion the little life remaining in the finest Leghorn rooster.
"Consarn it!" yelled the executioner, stooping and laying his hand on the victim, "I've killed a hen!"
Just then there came a scream from the other side of the henhouse, followed by a crash and the sound of a fall. Running around the corner the alarmed Perez saw his lady-love stretched upon the ground, groaning dismally.