assing
questions and he had promised Dunn.

"What ought you to say?" asked his niece.

"Why, nothin', I guess. I'm glad you understand matters a little better
and I don't intend for the estate nor you to pay these Moriarty bills.
Just get 'em off your mind. Forget 'em. I'll see that everything's
attended to. And, later on, if you and me can, by puttin' our heads
together, help those folks to earnin' a better livin', why, we will,
hey?"

The girl smiled up at him. "I think," she said, "that you must be one
who likes to hide his light under a bushel."

"I guess likely a two-quart measure'd be plenty big enough to hide mine.
There! there! We won't have any more misunderstandin's, will we? I'm a
pretty green vegetable and about as out of place here as a lobster in
a balloon, but, as I said to you and Steve once before, if you'll
just remember I _am_ green and sort of rough, and maybe make allowances
accordin', this cruise of ours may not be so unpleasant. Now you
run along and get ready for dinner, or the Commodore'll petrify from
standin' so long behind your chair."

She laughed, as she turned to go. "I should hate to have him do that,"
she said. "He would make a depressing statue. I shall see you again in a
few minutes, at dinner. Thank you--Uncle."

She left Captain Elisha in a curious state of mind. Against his will he
had been forced to accept thanks and credit which, he believed, did not
rightfully belong to him. It was the only thing to do, and yet it seemed
almost like disloyalty to Malcolm Dunn. This troubled him, but the
trouble was, just then, a mere pinhead of blackness against the radiance
of his spirit.

His brother's daughter had, for the first time, called him uncle.

CHAPTER X

"Captain Warren," asked Caroline, as they were seated at the breakfast
table next morning, "what are your plans for to-day?"

Captain Elisha put down his coffee cup and pulled his beard
reflectively. Contrary to his usual desire since he came to the
apartment to live, he was in no hurry to finish the meal. This breakfast
and the dinner of the previous evening had been really pleasant. He had
enjoyed them. His niece had not called him uncle again, it is true, and
perhaps that was too much to be expected as yet, but she was cheerful
and even familiar. They talked as they ate, and he had not been made to
feel that he was the death's head at the feast. The change was marked
and very welcome. The bright winter sunshin