,
and was loaded deep with early potatoes. The girls waved their
handkerchiefs and the men on board the packet gave a cheer, while Mr.
Leicester saluted with the Starlight's flag, and it was altogether a
ceremonious occasion. Seth said that he "guessed folks would think old
Tideshead was waking up." Of all the pleasure-boat's company Seth was
perhaps the best satisfied. He had been in a state of torture lest he
might not be asked to make one of the crew, and it being divulged that
although of up-country origin he had once gone to the Georges Banks
fishing with a seafaring uncle, Mr. Leicester considerately asked for
his services. Seth had put on the great rubber-boots and a heavy red
woolen shirt that he wore on shipboard in March weather. He was already
obliged to fan himself incessantly with his straw hat, as they were
running before the wind, and presently, after much suffering, made an
excuse to go into the little cabin, whence he reappeared, much abashed,
in his stocking feet and a faded calico shirt, which had been luckily
put on under the red one. Aunt Barbara held her parasol so that it
covered her face for a few minutes, and there was a considerate silence,
until Seth mentioned that he "had thought he knew before what it was to
be het up, but you never knew what kind of weather 't was to be on the
water."

At the next bend of the river the wind made them much cooler, while the
boat sailed even better than before. There had been plenty of rain, so
that the shore was as green as in June and the old farm-houses looked
very pleasant. Betty had not been so far down as this since the day she
came to Tideshead, and was looking eagerly for certain places that she
remembered. Aunt Barbara and papa were talking about John Paul Jones and
his famous river crew, some of whom Aunt Barbara had known in their old
age, while she was a girl. Harry Foster was listening with great
interest. Betty and even Becky felt proud of Harry as he steered,
looking along the river with quick, sure eyes. They did not feel so
familiar with him as usual; somehow, he looked a good deal older since
the trouble about his father, and there was a new manliness and dignity
about him, as if he knew that his mother and Nelly had no one but
himself to depend upon. It was plain to see that his early burden of
shame and sorrow had developed a strong character in the lad. There was
none of the listlessness and awkward incapacity and self-admiration that
ma