tood next day on one of the
deserted wharves, looking out across the empty harbor roads. There was
nothing coming in. How they had watched the deep-laden ships enter
between the outer capes and drop their great sails in home waters! How
they had ruled those ships, and been the ablest ship-masters of their
day, with nobody to question their decisions! There is no such
absolute monarchy as a sea-captain's. He is a petty king, indeed, as
he sails the high seas from port to port.

There was a fine easterly breeze and a bright sun that day, but
Captain Ball came toiling up the cobble-stoned street toward his house
as if he were vexed by a headwind. He carried a post-card between his
thumb and finger, and grumbled aloud as he stumped along. "Mis'
French!" he called, loudly, as he opened the door, and that worthy
woman appeared with a floured apron, and a mind divided between her
employer's special business and her own affairs of pie-making.

"She's coming this same day," roared the captain. "Might have given
some notice, I'm sure. 'Be with you Saturday afternoon,' and signed
her name. That's all she's written. Whoo! whoo! 'tis a dreadful close
day," and the poor old fellow fumbled for his big silk handkerchief.
"I don't know what train she'll take. I ain't going to hang round up
at the depot; my rheumatism troubles me."

"I wouldn't, if I was you," answered Mrs. French, shortly, and turned
from him with a pettish movement to open the oven door.

The captain passed into the sitting-room, and sat down heavily in his
large chair. On the wall facing him was a picture of his old ship the
Ocean Rover leaving the harbor of Bristol. It was not valuable as a
marine painting, but the sea was blue in that picture, and the white
canvas all spread to the very sky-scrapers; it was an emblem of that
freedom which Captain Asaph Ball had once enjoyed. Dinner that day was
a melancholy meal, and after it was cleared away the master of the
house forlornly watched Mrs. French gather an armful of her own
belongings, and mount the stairs as if she were going to pack her box
that very afternoon. It did not seem possible that she meant to leave
before Monday, but the captain could not bring himself to ask any
questions. He was at the mercy of womankind. "A jiggeting girl. I
don't know how to act with her. She sha'n't rule me," he muttered to
himself. "She and Mis' French may think they've got things right to
their hands, but I'll stand my ground-