was at home, he was no longer invited to
the house. He had always been a timid, shrinking fellow where a woman
was concerned, having followed the sea and lived among men since he was
sixteen years old. During these earlier years he had made two voyages
in the Pacific, and another to the whaling-ground in the Arctic seas. On
this last voyage, in a gale of wind, he had saved all the lives aboard
a brig, the crew helpless from scurvy. When the lifeboat reached the
lee of her stern, Carl at the risk of his life climbed aboard, caught a
line, and lowered the men, one by one, into the rescuing yawl. He could
with perfect equanimity have faced another storm and rescued a second
crew any hour of the day or night, but he could not face a woman's
displeasure. Moreover, what Tom wanted done was law to Carl. She had
taken him out of the streets and given him a home. He would serve her in
whatever way she wished as long as he lived.

He and Gran'pop were fast friends. On rainy days, or when work was dull
in the winter months, the old man would often come into Carl's little
chamber, next the harness-room in the stable, and sit on his bed by the
hour. And Carl would tell him about his people at home, and show him
the pictures tacked over his bed, those of his old mother with her white
cap, and of the young sister who was soon to be married.

On Sundays Carl followed Tom and her family to church, waiting until
they had left the house. He always sat far back near the door, so that
he could see them come out. Then he would overtake Pop with Patsy,
whenever the little fellow could go. This was not often, for now there
were many days when the boy had to lie all day on the lounge in the
sitting-room, poring over his books or playing with Stumpy, brought into
the kitchen to amuse him.

Since the day of Tom's warning look, Carl rarely joined her daughter.
Jennie would loiter by the way, speaking to the girls, but he would hang
back. He felt that Tom did not want them together.

One spring morning, however, a new complication arose. It was a morning
when the sky was a delicate violet-blue, when the sunlight came tempered
through a tender land haze and a filmy mist from the still sea, when
all the air was redolent with sweet smells of coming spring, and all the
girls were gay in new attire. Dennis Quigg had been lounging outside the
church door, his silk hat and green satin necktie glistening in the sun.
When Jennie tripped out Quigg starte