leave any more'n than the ship's cat's goin'
to jump overboard. She's been here so long she wouldn't know how to
leave if she wanted to."

"That don't make any difference. The pitcher that goes to the
well--er--er--"

She had evidently forgotten the rest of the proverb. Her husband helped
her out.

"Flocks together or gathers no moss, or somethin', eh? All right,
Mother, don't fret. There ain't really any occasion to, considerin'
we've been through somethin' like this at least once every six months
for ten years."

"Zelotes, won't you PLEASE go and ask her pardon?"

The captain pushed back his chair. "I'll be hanged if it ain't a healthy
note," he grumbled, "when the skipper has to go and apologize to the
cook because the cook's made a fool of herself! I'd like to know what
kind of rum Labe drinks. I never saw any but his kind that would go
to somebody else's head. Two people gettin' tight and only one of 'em
drinkin' is somethin'--"

He disappeared into the kitchen, still muttering. Mrs. Snow smiled
feebly at her grandson.

"I guess you think we're funny folks, Albert," she said. "But Rachel is
one hired help in a thousand and she has to be treated just so."

Five minutes later Cap'n 'Lote returned. He shrugged his shoulders and
sat down at his place.

"All right, Mother, all right," he observed. "I've been heavin' ile on
the troubled waters and the sea's smoothin' down. She'll be kind and
condescendin' enough to eat with us in a minute or so."

She was. She came into the dining-room with the air of a saint going to
martyrdom and the remainder of the meal was eaten by the quartet almost
in silence. When it was over the captain said:

"Well, Al, feel like walkin', do you?"

"Why, why, yes, sir, I guess so."

"Humph! You don't seem very wild at the prospect. Walkin' ain't much in
your line, maybe. More used to autoin', perhaps?"

Mrs. Snow put in a word. "Don't talk so, Zelotes," she said. "He'll
think you're makin' fun of him."

"Who? Me? Not a bit of it. Well, Al, do you want to walk down to the
lumber yard with me?"

The boy hesitated. The quiet note of sarcasm in his grandfather's voice
was making him furiously angry once more, just as it had done on the
previous night.

"Do you want me to?" he asked, shortly.

"Why, yes, I cal'late I do."

Albert, without another word, walked to the hat-rack in the hall and
began putting on his coat. Captain Lote watched him for a moment and
then put on h