IN WHICH A RECEPTION IS CALLED OFF
Far out on the Pacific coast there are two small islands, perhaps
a hundred miles distant from one another. The first of these is
uninhabited. On the other is a little colony of English-speaking people,
half-breed descendants of native women and the survivors of a crew from
a British vessel cast away there in the latter part of the eighteenth
century.
On the first of these islands, the smaller one, the Sea Mist had been
wrecked. Driven out of her course by a typhoon, she staggered through
day after day and night after night of terrific wind and storm until,
at last, there was promise of fair weather. Captain Nat, nearly worn out
from anxiety, care, and the loss of sleep, had gone to his stateroom
and the first mate was in charge. It was three o'clock, the wind still
blowing and the darkness pitchy, when the forward lookout shrieked a
warning, “Breakers under the lee!” Almost the next instant the ship was
on a coral reef, full of water, and the seas breaking over her from stem
to stern.
Morning came and showed a little patch of land, with palm trees and
tropical vegetation waving in the gusts and green in the sunshine.
Captain Nat ordered the boats to be lowered. Much as he hated the
thought, he saw that the Sea Mist had made her last voyage and must
be abandoned. He went to the cabin, collected papers and charts and
prepared to leave. The ship's money, over ten thousand dollars in gold
belonging to the owner and to be used in trade and speculation among the
East Indies, he took with him. Then the difficult and dangerous passage
through the opening in the reef was begun.
Only the captain's boat reached the shore. The mate's was caught by a
huge breaker, dashed against the reef and sunk. Captain Nat, his second
mate and five of his men were all that was left of the Sea Mist's
company. And on that island they remained for nearly two weeks.
Provisions they had brought ashore with them. Water they found by
digging. Nat hid the gold at night, burying it on the beach below
high-water mark.
Then, having made sure of his location by consulting the chart, he
determined to attempt a voyage to the second island, where he knew
the English colony to be. Provisions were getting short, and to remain
longer where they were was to risk starvation and all its horrors. So,
in the longboat, which was provided with a sail, they started. Charts
and papers and the gold the skipper took with them. None of the crew
knew of the existence of the money; it was a secret which the captain
kept to himself.
A hundred miles they sailed in the longboat and, at last, the second
island was sighted. They landed and found, to their consternation and
surprise, that it, too, was uninhabited. The former residents had grown
tired of their isolation and, a trading vessel having touched there, had
seized the opportunity to depart for Tahiti. Their houses were empty,
their cattle, sheep, goats, and fowl roamed wild in the woods, and the
fruit was rotting on the trees. In its way the little island was
an Eyeless Eden, flowing with milk and honey; but to Captain Nat, a
conscientious skipper with responsibilities to his owners, it was a
prison from which he determined to escape. Then, as if to make escape
impossible, a sudden gale came up and the longboat was smashed by the
surf.
“I guess that settles it,” ruefully observed the second mate, “another
Cape Codder, from Hyannis. Cal'late we'll stay here for a spell now,
hey, Cap'n.”
“For a spell, yes,” replied Nat. “We'll stay here until we get another
craft to set sail in, and no longer.”
“Another craft? ANOTHER one? Where in time you goin' to get her?”
“Build her,” said Captain Nat cheerfully. Then, pointing to the row of
empty houses and the little deserted church, he added, “There's timber
and nails--yes, and cloth, such as 'tis. If I can't build a boat out of
them I'll agree to eat the whole settlement.”
He did not have to eat it, for the boat was built. It took them six
months to build her, and she was a curious-looking vessel when done,
but, as the skipper said, “She may not be a clipper, but she'll sail
anywhere, if you give her time enough.” He had been the guiding
spirit of the whole enterprise, planning it, laying the keel, burning
buildings, to obtain nails and iron, hewing trees for the largest beams,
showing them how to spin ropes from cocoa-nut fiber, improvising sails
from the longboat's canvas pieced out with blankets and odd bits of
cloth from the abandoned houses. Even a strip of carpet from the church
floor went into the making of those sails.
At last she was done, but Nat was not satisfied.
“I never commanded a ship where I couldn't h'ist Yankee colors,” he
said, “and, by the everlastin'! I won't now. We've got to have a flag.”
So, from an old pair of blue overalls, a white cotton shirt, and the
red hangings of the church pulpit, he made a flag and hoisted it to the
truck of his queer command. They provisioned her, gave her a liberal
supply of fresh water, and, one morning, she passed through the opening
of the lagoon out to the deep blue of the Pacific. And, hidden in her
captain's stateroom under the head of his bunk, was the ten thousand
dollars in gold. For Nat had sworn to himself, by “the everlasting”
and other oaths, to deliver that money to his New York owners safe and,
necessary expenses deducted of course, untouched.
For seven weeks the crazy nondescript slopped across the ocean. Fair
winds helped her and, at last, she entered the harbor of Nukahiva, over
twelve hundred miles away. And there--“Hammond's luck,” the sailors
called it--was a United States man-of-war lying at anchor, the first
American vessel to touch at that little French settlement for five
years. The boat they built was abandoned and the survivors of the Sea
Mist were taken on board the man-of-war and carried to Tahiti.
From Tahiti Captain Nat took passage on a French bark for Honolulu.
Here, after a month's wait, he found opportunity to leave for New York
on an American ship, the Stars and Stripes. And finally, after being
away from home for two years, he walked into the office of his New York
owners, deposited their gold on a table, and cheerfully observed, “Well,
here I am.”
That was the yarn which Trumet was to hear later on. It filled columns
of the city papers at the time, and those interested may read it, in all
its details, in a book written by an eminent author. The tale of a Cape
Cod sea captain, plucky and resourceful and adequate, as Yankee sea
captains were expected to be, and were, in those days.
But Trumet did not hear the yarn immediately. All that it heard and all
that it knew was contained in Captain Nat's brief telegram. “Arrived
to-day. Will be home Thursday.” That was all, but it was enough, for
in that dispatch was explosive sufficient to blow to atoms the doctor's
plans and Keziah's, the great scheme which was to bring happiness to
John Ellery and Grace Van Horne.
Dr. Parker heard it, while on his way to Mrs. Prince's, and, neglecting
that old lady for the once, he turned his horse and drove as fast as
possible to the shanty on the beach. Fast as he drove, Captain Zebedee
Mayo got there ahead of him. Captain Zeb was hitching his white and
ancient steed to the post as the doctor hove in sight.
“By mighty!” the captain exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, “I'm glad
enough you've come, doctor. I hated to go in there alone. You've heard,
of course.”
“Yes, I've heard.”
“Say, ain't it wonderful! I'm tickled all up one side and sorry all down
t'other. Nat's a true-blue feller, and I'm glad enough that he ain't
shark bait; but what about the minister and her? She's promised to Nat,
you know, and--”
“I know. Don't I know! I've been going over the affair and trying to see
a way out ever since I heard of the telegram. Tut! tut! I'm like you,
mighty glad Hammond is safe, but it would have spared complications if
he had stayed wherever he's been for a few months longer. We would have
married those two in there by that time.”
“Sartin we would. But he didn't stay. Are you goin' to tell Mr. Ellery?”
“Certainly not. And I hope he hasn't been told. He's getting well fast
now, but he mustn't be worried, or back he'll go again. We must see Mrs.
Coffin. Keziah is our main hold. That woman has got more sense than all
the rest of us put together.”
But it was Grace, not Keziah, who opened the shanty door in answer to
their knock. She was pale and greeted them calmly, but it was evident
that her calmness was the result of sheer will power.
“Won't you come in, doctor?” she asked. “Good afternoon, Captain Mayo.”
Dr. Parker entered the building, but Captain Zeb remained outside,
stammering that he cal'lated he'd better stay where he could keep an eye
on his horse. This was such a transparent excuse that it would have been
funny at any other time. No one smiled now, however.
“Is--is Mrs. Coffin--er--Keziah aboard?” the captain asked.
“No, she isn't. She went to the parsonage a few hours ago. Mr. Ellis
brought the mail and there was a letter in it for her. She said it was
important and that she must go home to see about some things. She'll be
back pretty soon, I suppose.”
The doctor whispered her name then and she went inside, closing the door
after her. Captain Zebedee sat down on the step to ponder over the new
and apparently insurmountable difficulty which had arisen. As he said
afterwards, “The more I tried to get an observation, the thicker it got.
Blamed if I could see anything but fog, but I could hear--I could hear
Elkanah and his gang gigglin', ahead, astern and off both bows.”
Parker found his patient sleeping soundly and had not disturbed him.
Returning to the living room he spoke to Grace.
“Humph!” he grunted, watching her from under his brows, “everything
seems to be all right in there. He hasn't been excited or anything like
that?”
“No.”
“That's good. He mustn't be. You understand that? He mustn't be told
anything that will upset him. He's getting well fast and I want it to
continue.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Hum! Er--have you heard--Has anyone been here?”
“Yes. I have heard. The telegram came and I answered it.”
“You did? Well, it's a miracle and we're all thankful, of course. Did
you--er--er--”
“Doctor, I must go home. I mustn't stay here any longer.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. I must be at home when he comes. You must get some
one to take my place. Aunt Keziah will stay, of course, and perhaps Mrs.
Higgins would come, or Hannah Poundberry. She--”
“Not if I know it. I'd as soon have a hay-cutter running in here as
Hannah's tongue. I could stop a hay-cutter when it got too noisy. Well,
if you must go, you must, I suppose. But stay through tomorrow, at
any rate. Nat won't get here until Thursday, and I may be able to find
another nurse by that time. And what I shall say to him,” motioning
toward the other room, “I don't know.”
“Must you say anything? Just say that I have been called away for a few
days on--on some business. Don't tell him. Don't tell him the truth,
doctor, now. He is too weak and I am afraid--”
She stopped and turned away. The doctor watched her pityingly.
“Cheer up,” he said. “At any rate, this is only for a little while. When
the captain knows, if he's the man I take him for, he'll--”
She whirled like a flash. “You're not going to tell him?” she cried.
“No, no! You mustn't. You must promise me you won't. Promise.”
“Somebody'll tell him. Telling things is Trumet's specialty.”
“Then you must stop it. No one must tell him--no one except me. I shall
tell him, of course. He must hear it from me and not from anyone else.
He would think I was disloyal and ungrateful--and I am! I have been! But
I was--I COULDN'T help it. You know, doctor, you know--”
“Yes, yes, I know. Well, I'll promise, but it will all come out right,
you see. You mustn't think I--we--have been interfering in your affairs,
Grace. But we've all come to think a whole lot of that parson of ours
and what he wanted we wanted him to have, that's all.”
“I know. Thank you very much for all your kindness, and for your
promise.”
He would have liked to say much more, but he could not, under the
circumstances. He stammered a good-by and, with a question concerning
Mrs. Coffin's whereabouts, went out to join Captain Zeb.
“Well?” queried the latter anxiously. “How is it? What's up? What's the
next tack?”
“We'll go to the parsonage,” was the gloomy answer. “If anybody can see
a glimmer in this cussed muddle Keziah Coffin can.”
Keziah was on her knees in her room, beside a trunk, the same trunk she
had been packing the day of the minister's arrival in Trumet. She was
working frantically, sorting garments from a pile, rejecting some and
keeping others. She heard voices on the walk below and went down to
admit the callers.
“What's the matter, Keziah?” asked Dr. Parker sharply, after a look at
her face. “You look as if you'd been through the war. Humph! I suppose
you've heard the news?”
Keziah brushed back the hair from her forehead. “Yes,” she answered
slowly. “I've heard it.”
“Well, it's great news, and if it wasn't for--if things weren't as they
are, I'd be crowing hallelujahs this minute. Trumet has got a good man
safe and sound again, and the Lord knows it needs all of that kind it
can get.”
“Yes.”
“Yes. But there's the other matter. I've been to see Grace. She didn't
say so, but it was easy enough to see; the man she promised to marry and
thought was dead, is alive. She's a girl of her word--she promised him
and she promised her dying uncle--and she'll marry him. And then what
will become of John Ellery? He'll go downhill so fast that a ship's
anchor wouldn't hold him. If he doesn't die I'll have to send him away
somewhere, and the Regular church will lose the minister we've fought so
hard for.”
“Yes,” concurred Zebedee, “and them blasted Danielses'll run the shebang
and the rest of us'll have to sing small, I tell you.”
“So we've come to you, Keziah,” went on the doctor. “Do you see any
salvation?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You do? Where?”
“In Nat Hammond. If he knows Grace doesn't want to marry him, do you
suppose he'll hold her to her promise?”
“I don't know. I'm not so sure. Men don't give up girls like that so
easy. I wouldn't--by George, I wouldn't! And she won't tell him the
whole truth, I'm afraid. She'll pretend to be glad--hang it! she IS
glad--to have him home again and--”
“Of course she's glad. Ain't we all glad and happy and thankful? We
ought to be. But”--she hesitated--“doctor, you leave this to me. So
far as John and Grace are concerned you needn't worry. I'll take it on
myself to see that they have each other, as the Almighty meant 'em to.
Leave it to me. Just leave it to me. I KNOW I can do it.”
She would not say more, nor tell on what grounds she based her optimism.
She would go back to the shanty that evening, she said, and stay until
the following afternoon. Grace would undoubtedly go to the old tavern to
prepare for the homecoming. Let Mrs. Higgins take her place as nurse.
“I shall have to leave, myself,” she added, “for a little while; so
perhaps you'd better try to get somebody else to help the Higgins woman.
Don't ask me any questions, please don't, and be sure not to say a word
to anybody--most of all to Grace. Just do as I tell you and leave it to
me. And don't come and see me again until after--after he comes home.
Good-by, doctor. Good-by, Cap'n Zeb.”
She shook hands with each of them, a rather unusual proceeding as they
thought of it afterwards. Then they went away and left her.
“Humph!” mused Parker, as they came out at the gate. “Humph! She seems
sure, doesn't she. And yet she doesn't act like herself. Did you notice
that?”
“Yup. I noticed it. But I expect Nat's droppin' out of the clouds shook
her up, same as it done the rest of us. Well, never mind. She's a bully
good, capable woman and what she says she'll do she gen'rally does. I'm
bettin' on her. By time! I feel better.”
Captain Elkanah Daniels and his friends were feeling better also, and
they were busy. Trumet had a new hero now. On Wednesday the Boston
papers printed excerpts from Captain Hammond's story, and these brief
preliminary accounts aroused the admiration of every citizen. It was
proposed to give him a reception. Elkanah was the moving spirit in the
preparations. Captain Nat, so they learned by telegraphing, would arrive
on the noon train Thursday. His was not to be a prosaic progress by
stage all the way from Sandwich. A special carriage, drawn by the
Daniels span and escorted by other vehicles, was to meet the coach at
Bayport and bring him to Trumet in triumphant procession. All this was
to be a surprise, of course.
Wednesday afternoon the Daniels following was cheered by the tidings
that Grace Van Horne had left the beach and was at her old home, the
Hammond tavern. And Mrs. Poundberry reported her busy as a bee “gettin'
things ready.” This was encouraging and indicated that the minister
had been thrown over, as he deserved to be, and that Nat would find his
fiancee waiting and ready to fulfill her contract. “Reg'lar whirligig,
that girl,” sniffed Didama Rogers. “If she can't have one man she'll
take the next, and then switch back soon's the wind changes. However,
most likely she never was engaged to Mr. Ellery, anyhow. He's been out
of his head and might have said some fool things that let Dr. Parker and
the rest b'lieve he was in love with her. As for pickin' of him up and
totin' him back to the shanty that night, that wa'n't nothin' but common
humanity. She couldn't let him die in the middle of the lighthouse lane,
could she?”
Thursday was a perfect day, and the reception committee was on hand and
waiting in front of the Bayport post office. The special carriage, the
span brushed and curried until their coats glistened in the sunshine,
was drawn up beside the platform. The horses had little flags fastened
to their bridles, and there were other and larger flags on each side
of the dashboard. Captain Daniels, imposing in his Sunday raiment,
high-collared coat, stock, silk hat and gold-headed cane, sat stiffly
erect on the seat in the rear. The other carriages were alongside, among
them Captain Zebedee Mayo's ancient chaise, the white horse sound asleep
between the shafts. Captain Zeb had not been invited to join the escort,
but had joined it without an invitation.
“I guess likely I'd better be on hand,” the captain confided to Dr.
Parker. “Maybe I can stop Elkanah from talkin' too much about--well,
about what we don't want him to talk about, and besides, I'm just as
anxious to give Nat a welcome home as the next feller. He's a brick and
we're all proud of him. By mighty! I'd like to have seen that craft he
built out of cocoanuts and churches--I would so.”
Kyan Pepper was there also, not yet fully recovered from the surprise
which Lavinia's gracious permission had given him. Abishai had been
leaning disconsolately over his front gate early that morning when Noah
Ellis, the lightkeeper, jogged down the lane.
“'Mornin', 'Bish,” hailed Noah, pulling up his horse. “What's the
matter? You look bluer'n a spiled mack'rel. What's the row? Breakfast
disagree with you?”
“Naw,” replied Kyan shortly. “Where you bound, all rigged up in your
shore duds?”
“Bound to Bayport, to see Nat Hammond land,” was the cheerful answer.
“I ain't had a day off I don't know when, and I thought I'd take one. Be
great doin's over there, they tell me. Elkanah's goin' to make a speech
and there's eighteen teams of folks goin'.”
“I know it. I wisht I was goin', too, but I never have no fun. Have
to stay to home and work and slave over them consarned tax papers.
Sometimes I wish there wa'n't no taxes.”
“Humph! I've wished that, myself, more'n once. Why don't you go, if you
want to? Climb right aboard here with me. Plenty of room.”
“Hey? You mean that? By godfreys mighty! I'd like to.”
“Sartin, I mean it. Come ahead.”
Mr. Pepper sadly shook his head. “I guess likely I'd better not,” he
sighed. “Laviny might not like to have me leave her.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks! she won't mind. I'll take care of you. It's perfectly
safe. There ain't goin' to be no women around. Haw! haw! haw!”
He was still laughing at his own joke when through the slats of the
closed blinds shading the Pepper house parlor a shrill voice was heard
speaking.
“Go ahead, 'Bishy dear,” called Lavinia. “Go ahead and go. A change of
air'll do you good.”
Kyan whirled and clutched at the gate.
“HEY?” he shouted in amazement.
“Are you deef? Or is Mr. Ellis laughin' so hard that you can't hear?
What is it that's so funny, Mr. Ellis?”
The light-keeper shut off his laughter by a sudden and rather frightened
gulp.
“Oh, nothin', nothin', Miss Pepper. Nice day, ain't it?”
“I guess so. I ain't had time to look at it yet. I have to work. I can't
let my wife do it for me, like some folks, and take 'days off.' What was
it you was laughin' at, Mr. Ellis?”
“Nothin', nothin' at all.”
“Hum! They used to tell me there was only one kind of person who laughed
at nothin'. Well, 'Bish Pepper, what are you standin' there for? If
you're goin', come right into the house and change your clothes this
minute.”
Kyan obeyed. Shortly he reappeared, clothed like a lily of the field,
one that had long since gone to seed. He clambered up beside Noah and
they drove off.
“Jerushy!” exclaimed the lightkeeper. “This is kind of unexpected, ain't
it? What's got into her to make her so accommodatin'?”
“Godfreys mighty!” was the dazed reply, “I don't know. This as fast as
you can drive? Hurry up, afore she changes her mind.”
So it happened that Mr. Pepper was in Bayport with the rest, awaiting
the stage which was bringing Trumet's latest celebrity from Sandwich.
“Here she comes!” shouted Ezra Simmons, the postmaster. “Right on time,
too.”
Sure enough! A cloud of dust in the distance, rising on the spring
wind, and the rattle of rapidly turning wheels. The reception committee
prepared for action. Captain Elkanah descended from the carriage and
moved in stately dignity to the front of the post-office platform.
“Hum--ha!” he barked, turning to his followers. “Be ready now. Give him
a good cheer, when I say the word. Let it be hearty--hearty, yes.”
The stage, its four horses at a trot, swung up to the platform.
“Whoa!” roared the driver.
“Now!” ordered Elkanah. “One--two--Hurrah!”
“Hurrah!” shouted the committee, its uninvited guests and the
accompanying crowd of Bayport men and boys which had gathered to assist
in the welcome. “Hurrah!”
“Hooray!” yelled Kyan, a little behind, as usual.
A passenger or two peered from the coach window. The stage driver
ironically touched his cap.
“Thank ye,” he said. “Thank ye very much. I've been hopin' for this
for a long time, though I'd about given up expectin' it. I'm very much
obliged. Won't somebody please ask me to make a speech?”
Captain Elkanah frowned his disapproval.
“We are cheering Cap'n Nathaniel Hammond of Trumet,” he explained
haughtily. “We are here to meet him and escort him home.”
The driver sighed. “You don't say,” he said. “And I thought my merits
had been recognized at last. And 'twas all for Cap'n Hammond? Dear!
dear!”
He winked at Simmons, who wanted to laugh, but did not dare.
“Come! come!” said Captain Elkanah. “Where is he? Where's Cap'n
Hammond?”
“Well, now, I'll tell ye; I don't know where he is.”
“You DON'T? Isn't he with you?”
“No, he ain't. And he didn't come on the train, nuther. He WAS on it.
The conductor told me he see him and set along with him between stations
as fur as Cohasset Narrows. But after that he never see hide nor hair of
him. Oh, that's so! Here's the mail bag, Ezry.”
Captain Elkanah looked at the reception committee and it looked at him.
Here was a most disconcerting setback for all the plans. The committee,
after asking more, and fruitless questions, went into executive session.
Captain Zeb stepped beside the stage and put one foot on the wheel.
“Say, Thad,” he whispered, “is that all you know? Where did he go to?”
“Can't tell you, cap'n. The conductor says he see him afore they got to
Cohasset Narrows and not after. Naturally, we s'pose he got off there.
Pretty good joke on old Daniels, I call it. Serve him right, figgerin'
to take a passenger away from me. He, he!”
“But you do know more, now don't you? Tell a feller--come! I don't like
Elkanah any better'n you do.”
“Well,” the driver's voice dropped still lower. “Well,” he whispered,
“I did hear this much, though don't you tell none of them: A chap I know
was on the train and he said he see Cap'n Nat get off the cars at the
Cohasset Narrows depot and there was a woman with him.”
“A woman? A WOMAN? What woman?”
“Blessed if I know! And he didn't nuther. So long! Git dap!”
The reception committee and its escort drove slowly back to Trumet. The
Daniels following was disgusted and disappointed. Captain Elkanah had
figured upon keeping Hammond under his own wing until he was safely
deposited at the old tavern. Grace was there and Elkanah meant that
these two should meet before any inkling of Ellery's story reached Nat's
ears. Incidentally, he could drop a few damaging hints concerning the
minister's character. To hurt Ellery all he could and prejudice Hammond
against him--that was the plan, and now it was frustrated. The captain
had not put in an appearance and no one knew where he was or when he
would come home. Obviously, there was nothing to do except give up the
reception and await further news from the missing man.
Some of those present wished to remain in Bayport until night. Another
train was due in Sandwich and, possibly, Nat might come on that. They
could telegraph and find out whether or not he did come, and if he did,
could send a carriage for him. But this suggestion was overruled. The
reception was off.
The homeward journey had some unpleasant incidents. Several Come-Outers
had driven over. Nat belonged to them, so they felt--he was the son of
their dead founder and leader--and they determined the Regulars should
not have him all to themselves. They had come to bid him welcome on
behalf of the worshipers at the chapel. Now they took advantage of the
general disappointment to make sarcastic and would-be-humorous remarks
loud enough for the majestic occupant of the decorated carriage to hear.
“Seems to me,” said Thoph Black, “that them flags ought to be ha'f mast.
That craft's in distress.”
“S-sh-h!” counciled his companion, another Come-Outer. “Don't be
irreverent. Look who's cruisin' under 'em. That's the King of Trumet.
Let's you and me go ahead and fire salutes, Thoph.”
Captain Elkanah wrathfully ordered the flags to be removed from the
horses' heads and from the dashboard.
As Noah Ellis and his passenger turned into the lighthouse lane another
vehicle turned out of it.
“Who was that?” queried Kyan. “Looked like one of the livery stable
horses to me.”
“'Twa'n't. 'Twas Thankful Payne's and that was her carriage, too. It's
gettin' so dark I couldn't see who was drivin' it, but 'twas a man,
anyhow.”
Kyan seemed to be pondering. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “I wonder if
that cousin of hers from Sandwich is here visitin'. That Caleb Pratt,
seems to me his name is.”
“Don't know. Why?”
“Nothin', nothin'. I just wondered, that was all. That might explain why
she let me--”
“Hey?”
“Nothin'. Good night, Noah. I'm much obliged to you for takin' me over,
even if there wa'n't no reception.”
Trumet spent that evening wondering what had become of Nat Hammond.
Captain Zeb Mayo wondered most of all. Yet his wonderment was
accompanied by vague suspicions of the truth. And, at eleven o'clock,
when the village was in bed, a horse and buggy moved down the Turn-off
and stopped before the Hammond gate. A man alighted from the buggy and
walked briskly up to the side door. There he knocked and then whistled
shrilly.
A window overhead was opened.
“Who is it?” asked a feminine voice.
“Don't be frightened, Gracie,” replied the man at the door. “It's
me--Nat. I've come home again.”