d inspected them lovingly. "Ain't they fine?" he asked,
crunching two or three between his teeth. "I picked 'em up as I came
along. I tell you, that's the home taste, all right."

"Don't eat those frozen things. They'll give you your never-get-over."

"What? Cape Cod cranberries! Never in the world. I'd rather eat sand
down here than the finest mug my steward can cook. Tell you what I'll
do, though; I'll swear off on the cranberries if you'll give me a
four-inch slice of that pie I saw you put in the oven. Dried-apple, I'll
bet my sou'wester. Think you might ask a feller to sit down. Ain't you
glad to see me?"

Mrs. Coffin pulled forward one of the kitchen chairs. He seated himself
on it and it groaned under his weight.

"Whew!" he whistled. "Never made to stand rough weather, was it? Well,
AIN'T you glad?"

Keziah looked at him gravely.

"You know I'm glad, Nat," she said.

"So? I hoped you would be, but I did want to hear you say it. Now you
come to anchor yourself and let's have a talk. I've been countin' on it
ever since we set tops'ls off Surinam."

The housekeeper took the other chair.

"How are you--" she began. He stopped her.

"S-shh!" he interrupted. "Don't say anything for a minute. Let me look
at you. Just as clean and wholesome and good-lookin' as ever. They don't
make girls like that anywhere else but down on this old sand bar. Not a
day older, by the jumpin'--"

She held up her hand.

"Hush, Nat," she protested; "don't talk foolish. Girl? Not a day older?
Why, if feelin's count for anything, I'm as old as Methusaleh. Haven't I
had enough to make me old?"

He was grave immediately.

"I beg your pardon, Keziah," he said. "I'm a dough head, that's a fact.
I hadn't forgot about Sol, but I was so glad to be home again and to see
dad and Grace and the old town and you that everything else flew out of
my mind. Poor Sol! I liked him."

"He liked you, too. No wonder, considerin' what you did to--"

"Belay! Never mind that. Poor chap! Well, he's rid of his sufferin's at
last. Tell me about it, if you can without bringin' all the trouble back
too plain."

So she told him of her brother's sickness and death, of having to give
up the old home, and, finally, of her acceptance of the housekeeper's
position. He listened, at first with sympathy and then with suppressed
indignation.

"By the jumpin' Moses!" he exclaimed. "And Elkanah was goin' to turn you
out of house and home. The mean, pompous old