oor bang just as Captain Crowe
entered with his fish.

"Was that the wind sprung up so quick?" he inquired, alert to any
change of weather.

"I expect it was Captain Shaw, just leavin'," said Mrs. Lunn angrily.
"He's always full o' business, ain't he? No wonder those children of
his are without manners." There was no favor in her tone, and the
spirits of Captain Crowe were for once equal to his height.

The daylight was fading fast. The mackerel were deposited in their
proper place, and the donor was kindly bidden to come in and sit down.
Mrs. Lunn's old-fashioned sitting-room was warm and pleasant, and the
big captain felt that his moment had come; the very atmosphere was
encouraging. He was sitting in the rocking-chair, and she had taken
her place by the window. There was a pause; the captain remembered how
he had felt once in the China Seas just before a typhoon struck the
ship.

"Maria," he said huskily, his voice sounding as if it came from the
next room,--"Maria, I s'pose you know what I'm thinkin' of?"

"I don't," said Mrs. Lunn, with cheerful firmness. "Cap'n Crowe, I
know it ain't polite to talk about your goin' when you've just come
in; but when you do go, I've got something I want to send over to your
sister Eliza."

The captain gasped; there was something in her tone that he could not
fathom. He began to speak, but his voice failed him altogether. There
she sat, perfectly self-possessed, just as she looked every day.

"What are you payin' now for potatoes, sir?" continued Mrs. Lunn.

"Sixty cents a bushel for the last, ma'am," faltered the captain. "I
wish you'd hear to me, Maria," he burst out. "I wish"--

"Now don't, cap'n," urged the pleasant little woman. "I've made other
arrangements. At any rate," she added, with her voice growing more
business-like than ever,--"at any rate, I deem it best to wait until
the late potatoes come into market; they seem to keep better."

The typhoon had gone past, but the captain waited a moment, still
apprehensive. Then he took his hat, and slowly and sadly departed
without any words of farewell. In spite of his lame foot he walked
some distance beyond his own house, in a fit of absent-mindedness that
was born of deep regret. It was impossible to help respecting
Mrs. Lunn's character and ability more than ever. "Oh! them ministers,
them ministers!" he groaned, turning in at his high white gate between
the tall posts with their funeral urns.

Mrs. Lunn heard t