the captain did his best to match,
sending samples here, there, and everywhere in the effort. Then, upon
the walls he hung old-fashioned pictures, such as Bayport dwellers had
long ago relegated to their attics, pictures like "From Shore to Shore,"
"Christian Viewing the City Beautiful," and "Signing the Declaration."
To these he added, bringing them from the crowded garret of the
homestead, oil paintings of ships commanded by his father and
grandfather, and family portraits, executed--which is a peculiarly
fitting word--by deceased local artists in oil and crayon.

He boarded up the fireplace in the sitting room and installed a
base-burner stove, resurrected from the tinsmith's barn. He purchased
a full "haircloth set" of parlor furniture from old Mrs. Penniman, who
never had been known to sell any of her hoarded belongings before, even
to the "antiquers," and wouldn't have done so now, had it not been that
the captain's offer was too princely to be real, and the old lady feared
she might be dreaming and would wake up before she received the money.
And from Trumet to Ostable he journeyed, buying a chair here and a table
there, braided rag mats from this one, and corded bedsteads and "rising
sun" quilts from that. At least half of Bayport believed with Gabe
Lumley and Miss Phinney that, if Captain Cy had not escaped from a home
for the insane, he was a likely candidate for such an institution.

At the table of the perfect boarding house the captain was not inclined
to be communicative regarding his reasons and his intentions. He was a
prime favorite there, praising Keturah's cooking, joking with Angeline
concerning what he was pleased to call her "giddy" manner of dressing
and wearing "side curls," and telling yarns of South American dress
and behavior, which would probably have shocked Mrs. Tripp--she having
recently left the Methodist church to join the "Come-Outers," because
the Sunday services of the former were, with the organ and a paid choir,
altogether "too play-actin'"--if they had not been so interesting, and
if Captain Cy had not always concluded them with the observation: "But
there! you can't expect nothin' more from ignorant critters denied
the privileges of congregational singin' and experience meetin's; hey,
Matilda?"

Mrs. Tripp would sigh and admit that she supposed not.

"Only I do wish Mr. Daniels, OUR minister, might have a chance to preach
over 'em, poor things!"

"So do I," with a covert wink