ason of the
year. Later on, when I put out my fish weirs, I'm pretty busy, but now
I'm a sort of 'longshore loafer. You're figurin' to go to Trumet after
you've seen Miss Emily leave the dock, you said, didn't you? Well, I've
got an errand of my own in Trumet that might as well be done now as any
time. I'll drive you over and back if you're willin' to trust the vessel
in my hands. I don't set up to be head of the Pilots' Association
when it comes to steerin' a horse, but I cal'late I can handle any
four-legged craft you're liable to charter in East Wellmouth."

His offer was accepted and so far he had proved a competent and able
helmsman. Now, Miss Howes having been started on her homeward way, the
next port of call was to be the office of Mr. Solomon Cobb at Trumet.

During the first part of the drive Thankful was silent and answered
only when spoken to. The parting with Emily and the sense of heavy
responsibility entailed by the project she had in mind made her rather
solemn and downcast. Captain Obed, noticing this, and suspecting the
cause, chatted and laughed, and after a time his passenger seemed to
forget her troubles and to enjoy the trip.

They jogged up the main street of Trumet until they reached the little
three-cornered "square" which is the business center of the village.
Next beyond the barbershop, which is two doors beyond the general store
and postoffice, was a little one-story building, weather-beaten and
badly in need of paint. The captain steered his "craft" up to the
sidewalk before this building and pulled up.

"Whoa!" he ordered, addressing the horse. Then, turning to Thankful, he
said:

"Here you are, ma'am. This is Sol Cobb's place."

Mrs. Barnes looked at the little building. Its exterior certainly was
not inviting. The windows looked as if they had not been washed for
weeks, the window shades were yellow and crooked, and one of the panes
of glass in the front door was cracked across. Thankful had not seen her
"Cousin Solomon" for years, not since she was a young woman, but she had
heard stories of his numerous investments and business prosperity, and
she could scarcely believe this dingy establishment was his.

"Are you sure, Cap'n Bangs?" she faltered. "This can't be the Solomon
Cobb I mean. He's well off and it don't seem as if he would be in an
office like this--if 'tis an office," she added. "It looks more like a
henhouse to me. And there's no signs anywhere."

The captain laughed