rd where he belongs
is a better thing for the town than a new meetin'-house would be."

But during all this flurry of gossip Cap'n Aaron Sproul spent his
bland and blissful days up under the shade of the big maple in the
Ward dooryard, smoking his pipe, and gazing out over the expanse of
meadow and woodland stretching away to the horizon.

Most of the time his wife was at his elbow, peering with a species
of adoration into his browned countenance as he related his tales
of the sea. She constantly carried a little blank-book, its ribbon
looped about her neck, and made copious entries as he talked. She
had conceived the fond ambition of writing the story of his life.
On the cover was inscribed, in her best hand:

FROM SHORE TO SHORE

LINES FROM A MARINER'S ADVENTURES

_The Life Story of the Gallant Captain Aaron Sproul_

_Written by His Affectionate Wife_

"I reckon that Providunce put her finger on my compass when I steered
this way. Louada Murilla," said the Cap'n one day, pausing to relight
his pipe.

He had insisted on renaming his wife "Louada Murilla," and she had
patiently accepted the new name with the resignation of her patient
nature. But the name pleased her after her beloved lord had
explained.

"I was saving that name for the handsomest clipper-ship that money
could build," he said. "But when I married you, little woman, I got
something better than a clipper-ship; and when you know sailorman's
natur' better, you'll know what that compliment means. Yes,
Providunce sent me here," continued the Cap'n, poking down his
tobacco with broad thumb. "There I was, swashin' from Hackenny to
t'other place, livin' on lobscouse and hoss-meat; and here you was,
pinin' away for some one to love you and to talk to you about something
sensibler than dropped stitches and croshayed lamp-mats. Near's I
can find out about your 'sociates round here, you would have got more
real sense out of talkin' with Port and Starboard up there," he added,
pointing to his pet parrots, which had followed him in his wanderings.
"We was both of us hankerin' for a companion--I mean a married
companion. And I reckon that two more suiteder persons never started
down the shady side--holt of hands, hey?"

He caught her hands and pulled her near him, and she bent down and
kissed his weather-beaten forehead.

At that instant Col. Gideon Ward came clattering into the yard in
his tall wagon. He glared at this scene of conjugal af