Sim Hicks bawled at him to get up and go on with the fight. Mr. Beaver squirmed and whined under the tightening grip like a beaten pup. The crowd stood dumb with amazement. Few of those present had ever witnessed the effect of a knock-out blow.

Mr. McGowan was the first to the side of the prostrate man. He lifted him to his feet, and began walking him about. As the stranger regained his senses, he smiled faintly at Hicks' repeated requests that the fight be finished.

"How long was I out?" asked the pugilist.

Sim caught the savage glare in the Captain's eyes, and reluctantly admitted that it had been over a minute.

"But this ain't no regular match!" he shouted.

The pugilist looked in the direction of the Captain as he drew away from the minister and steadied himself against an upright.

"I guess we'll have to call it regular enough to go by rules," declared the city boxer. "I'm beaten, Hicks."

"I was sorry to do it, but there seemed no other way. There was too much at stake to run the risk of losing," said the minister. "May I say, sir, that you are a good boxer?"

"Mr. McGowan,"—the stranger extended his hand with unaffected cordiality,—"it's great of you to say that after what I tried to do to you. I refused to apologize when that old fellow tried to make me, but I do it now. I'm ashamed of the way I lost my head. If you'll accept my apology, I'll accept your compliment."

"Gladly!" exclaimed the minister.

Beneath the rough exterior of this savage fighter there was the spirit of the true sportsman. The two men removed their gloves and gripped bare hands in a warm grasp.

"The fact of the matter is, you had me outclassed at every turn. Any man who could do what you have done to-night, after I'd thought I'd spied on you long enough to secure the key to all your strong points, could make his fortune in the ring. I'm heartily ashamed that I made myself a party to this plot to put you out. What your old friend has said is true: I'm a cur and a white-livered coward to sneak in on you the way I did."

"See here!" shouted Sim Hicks, abandoning all caution, "ain't you going to finish this little job you've been paid for?"

"It is finished, but it wasn't stipulated in the contract as to who was going to do the finishing."

"You——"

"Shet that trap of yours, Sim. If you don't it's li'ble to get another catch," threatened the Captain.

Hicks eyed the seaman, rubbed his swollen nose, and backed away.

Mr. Beaver did a corkscrew dance, and tried in vain to release the hold on his collar.

"Cap'n Pott!" exclaimed the surprised minister who noticed for the first time that the seaman was holding Mr. Beaver. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Well, this little shrimp was mighty interested in the boxing, and I thought he might as well come down for a few lessons that he wouldn't forget right off. I cal'lated to give him a few myself."

Mr. Beaver's face was purple. His words would probably have been of the same hue had there been any possibility of releasing them.

"Let him go, Cap'n, you're strangling him."

"He'd otter be choked, if he's as deep in this thing as I think he is. But he ain't in no condition for a lesson to-night, he's a mite too worked up. Harry, I'll let you off, but if this here yarn gets out into the church through you or through the rest of the menagerie, we'll give you the little lesson I spoke about, and it will stick like glue to your anatomy. Now, you run along to Eadie, she'll be missing you, and I'd hate to send you home mussed up."

Mr. Beaver ran. With a dart he shot for the stair.

The members of the club escorted Mr. McGowan to the Captain's home. As he said good night, Hank Simpson came forward.

"Mr. McGowan, the fellers want to know if you'll be one of our members in regular standing."

Mr. McGowan expressed his delight, and declared he would like nothing better.

"He's 'lected, fellers!" shouted Hank.

A ringing cheer went up from the crowd. The Captain said to Elizabeth the next morning, when recounting what had taken place, "I was 'feared that Mack would be mad as hops the way them fellers carried on, but he wa'n't, not a mite. He seemed tolerable pleased about it. When the fellers asked a lot of foolish questions as to what was the matter with Mr. McGowan, and then answered them by saying that he was all right, Mack looked as happy as a school kid."

Hank once more whispered to the minister. The answer was apparently satisfactory, for the boys gave a parting cheer, declaring that they would all be present in church the following Sunday.



CHAPTER VI

The troublesome microbes, of which Captain Pott had so unmelodiously sung, had been driven out into the open, and were now doing a war-dance to a jazz tune. Into the domestic life of the Captain there wormed the most subtle microbe of all. Just what to do with it, or how to meet it, he did not know. But it continued to bob up at every meal time with a clamorous demand for attention.

One Monday evening the two men sat in the minister's study, the clergyman wrapped in silence, and the Captain in a cloud of tobacco smoke. The seaman was the first to break through his cloud.

"Mack, I'm awful sorry to disturb your meditations, but if they ain't a heap sight more entertaining than mine, I cal'late you won't mind to give 'em up for a spell."

"It wouldn't be much of a sacrifice, Cap'n," acknowledged Mr. McGowan, laughing. "What is troubling you?"

"Well, it's this,"—the Captain blew a cloud of smoke,—"this here's slow navigating on land without a woman's hand on the wheel. We need some one to set things to rights round here once in a while."

Mr. McGowan had been lounging lazily before the open fire, but now rose and stretched himself.

"The idea is all right, but how can we put it into effect?"

"I ain't just exactly sure."

"You must have something to propose, else you wouldn't have mentioned it."

"There ain't going to be no proposing, leastwise not by me."

The minister smiled. "Afraid of the fair sex, Cap'n?"

"No. Just wise to 'em."

"Why don't you take the suggestion I made some time ago?"

"Meaning, which?"

"Have some one come in once a week to clean up."

"It needs something more than a cleaner round here. What we want is a cook. I cal'late we'd best ship a general housekeeper."

"A housekeeper!" exclaimed Mr. McGowan, suddenly breaking off a wide yawn.

The skipper blew a cloud of smoke and watched it thin out into the air above his head.

"And you have just declared that you didn't intend to propose. I'm afraid——"

"I ain't interested in your fears, young man. I'm too old a sea-dog for any of them new-fangled tricks. But being as you're set on staying here I've decided that we'll take a woman aboard to look after the mess and swab decks."

The minister became serious. "Is that practical in our present position?"

"Practical in our present position? If it ain't, then I'd like to know when in the name of all my ancestors such a thing is practical. Mack——"

"I mean from the financial point of view. The boxing match seems to have hit the pocketbooks of the church members harder than the man from the city hit me. At least, something has given them almost total paralysis."

"Who's asking you to consarn yourself with a woman's keep? I ain't, be I?"

"I hope you don't think that I'd permit you to bring a housekeeper in here for me unless you give me the privilege of sharing in the expense."

"Mack, this here place ain't your house. Cal'late I'll do about as I please on that p'int."

"If I can't stand the expense with part salary, you certainly can't stand it with none," persisted the minister.

"I ain't sartin it would cost anything. Leastwise, it won't cost much. I ain't sartin,"—repeated the Captain as though in meditation,—"but I think she'll come."

"Who?"

"Don't let your cur'osity get away with you, young feller. I ain't promising nothing, but I'm just thinking, that's all. How'd you like to cruise round the P'int to-morrow, Mack?"

"You have a delightful way of changing the subject when it gets too hot. But I'd certainly like the cruise and the air."

"I cal'late I ain't changed no subject. We'll go over Riverhead way. It'll be sort of a vacation from all this mess, and give me a chance to see about this puzzling woman question."

With this declaration, the Captain retreated into a silence which all of Mr. McGowan's questions failed to penetrate. The old man was thinking of Clemmie Pipkin!

Clemmie had been the object of his boyhood ardor till the day when his dashing half-brother had kidnapped her affections. But no sooner had he won her from the Captain than he disappeared, leaving the faithful Miss Pipkin, never to return. She had remained unmarried all these years, in spite of the oft-repeated attempt on the part of Captain Pott to rekindle her love. He wondered now, as he sat before the dying fire, if her presence in his home would change her attitude toward him. This question wakened anew the desire of his youth, and after he had retired it kept sleep from his eyes through the long hours of the night. He must have Clemmie Pipkin to take care of his house.

Daylight had barely kindled her fires over the eastern waters when the two men boarded the Jennie P. Mr. McGowan noticed that the Captain took particular pains in cleaning and polishing the few brass trimmings. They both worked hard till the sun appeared, and then hastily ate a lunch which they had brought aboard with them. After finishing the sandwiches, the Captain went forward and dropped a measuring-stick into the gasoline tank.

"I'll swan!" he ejaculated. "There ain't a drop of 'ile in that there tank. And I left the cans ashore."

"I'll go for them."

"No, you don't, young feller! You stay right aboard here," ordered the skipper. "You can be working on the engine, or something. I'll get that 'ile myself."

Surprised at the seaman's earnestness, the minister obeyed. He was working over the engine, his hands covered with grease, when the dory scraped the side of the boat. He came out of the cockpit, and, to his amazement, saw the Captain assisting two young ladies into the Jennie P. Each carried a large basket. They were no less surprised than he.

"Why, Mr. McGowan!" exclaimed Elizabeth, the color flooding her already rosy cheeks.

"Captain Pott!" cried Miss Splinter.

Mr. McGowan said nothing. He folded his hands behind him and looked foolish.

"I thought maybe a little company might liven up the trip," observed the seaman, looking like a schoolboy who had sprung a surprise on his teacher. "Ain't you going to welcome 'em? You'll find their name on the roster, and they brought their grub with 'em."

"This is a very delightful surprise," faintly declared the minister.

Elizabeth looked troubled, and her discomfort did not add to the minister's ease. She had been anything but cordial since the incident at her home when Mr. Fox had taken ill. He had not seen her since the fight. He feared that the interpretation placed on that by her father had not bettered his standing.

"I didn't go to bed last night right off, Mack, when I said I was going," explained the Captain. "I went out and fixed up this little party for a sort of surprise to all hands. I stowed that 'ile in the boat-house on purpose so as I could get ashore without too many questions."

"I trust that our going will make no difference."

The minister's embarrassment had grown painful. With a hopeless gesture he brought out a pair of black grimy hands. "Indeed, it will make a difference, Miss Fox, all the difference in the world. If the Captain had kept his engine cleaner I'd have been able to give you a more hearty welcome."

The sight of the greasy hands broke the tension, and although Mr. McGowan cordially extended them neither young lady offered hers in return.

The cruise was a great success, if we take the Captain's word for it, which word was given to Mrs. Beaver on their return to Little River. "Them young folks had the time of their lives, and I never see a more likely pair than that little Beth and the minister as they stood by the wheel together steering the Jennie P. through them rollers. Beth takes to water just the same way she takes to everything, with her whole soul."

It was noon when they cast anchor in the Riverhead Inlet. The men prepared to go ashore while the girls took out the lunches. As the baskets were opened, and bundles untied, Mr. McGowan suggested that they make for shore before their appetites demanded otherwise.

At the landing the men parted, for the Captain had expressed the desire to make his visit alone. He did not tell the minister that his destination was the County Farm for fear that he, Mr. McGowan, would not understand that Clemmie Pipkin was the matron, and not an inmate.

Captain Pott found Miss Pipkin without difficulty. During the past ten years, he had been a frequent visitor at the Farm, and many knew him. He went at once to the bare little reception-room and made known his presence. As Miss Pipkin entered a slight tinge crept into the hollow of her sallow cheeks. She extended a bony hand.

"I'm real glad to see you, Josiah. It's been a long time since you called."

"Howdy, Clemmie. It has been a mite long, but I've been purty busy of late trying to keep people out of trouble."

"Then you must have changed a lot."

"You ain't looking well," he observed solicitously. "Ain't sick, be you?"

"No," she answered with a deep sigh. "That is, I ain't real sick. I ain't been feeling quite myself for a spell, but I reckon it will wear off."

"You'll wear off if you don't get out of this place," replied the Captain.

Miss Pipkin was far from being a beautiful woman. From all appearances she had never been pretty, or even good-looking. Her form had a few too many sharp angles where it should have been curved. Her face was long and thin, and now age and worry had dug deeply into the homely features, obliterating the last trace of middle life. She always dressed in black, and to-day the Captain saw that her clothes were worn and faded. He moved uneasily as his quick eye took in the meaning of these signs.

"I cal'late they're working you too hard here, Clemmie," he said tenderly. "You'd best get away for a spell."

"I'd like to have a rest, but I can't leave. There's no one to take my place."

"Pshaw! There's plenty who'd be glad for the place."

"Anyhow, I ain't got no place to go."

"That's what I've come to see you about, Clemmie."

Miss Pipkin straightened with cold dignity, and her eyes flashed fires of warning.

"Josiah Pott! Be you proposing to me again?"

"Now, don't get mad, Clemmie. I ain't proposing to you," he explained as calmly as possible. "But as I've said afore——"

"I know what you've said, learnt it like a book. And you know what I've said, too. My no means NO."

"I cal'late you ain't left no room for me to doubt that. You've made that purty tolerable plain. I reckon we're getting too old for that now, anyway. Leastwise, I be," he finished hurriedly, noting a rising color in her thin cheeks.

"Huh!" she grunted indignantly. "A body'd think you was the grandfather of Methuselah to hear you talk."

"I am getting on purty well, Clemmie."

"Josiah Pott! If you come over here to talk that nonsense you can go right back."

"I really come on another matter. I want you to come over and keep house for me and another man. We're living on the old place, and it ain't what you'd call hum sweet hum for two males to live alone in a big house like mine. Thought maybe you wouldn't mind keeping the decks swabbed and the galley full of pervisions if I'd only pay you the same as you're getting here. I'd——"

"That will be enough!"

"Thought maybe 'twould."

"I'll not listen to another word from you!" exclaimed the shocked Miss Pipkin. The expression on her face gave the Captain the feeling that he had dived into icy water, and had come up suddenly against a hidden beam.

"Two of you! And you want me to do your work! Well, of all the nerve!"

"I ain't told you yet who the other feller is," suggested the Captain.

"I don't care if he's an angel from heaven. I'd think you'd be ashamed of yourself to come here and speak of such a thing."

"But I ain't ashamed, Clemmie. A drowning man is willing to grab the first straw he sees. Listen to me, Clemmie," he pleaded, as she turned to leave the room.

"Me listen to you proposing for me to come over to Little River and start talk that would ruin the town? Not if I know what Clemmie Pipkin's doing."

"I tell you I ain't proposing to you, I'm just asking you. As far as that town goes, a few things more for it to talk about can't do her no harm."

Miss Pipkin paused on the threshold to give a parting shot, but the Captain spoke first and spiked her guns.

"The other feller happens to be the new parson."

Her expression changed. Preachers had long been her specialty at the Poor Farm, and she knew exactly the care and food they needed.

"What was that you said, Josiah?"

"The other feller living with me is the minister at the brick church."

"The minister living with you!"

"Yes."

"With you? But you ain't got religion."

"I cal'late that's the safest guess you ever made, Clemmie, but just now it's cooking, and not religion, that's bothering me."

"Lan' sakes! You ain't trying to cook for the minister, be you?" she asked incredulously.

"You put it just right, I'm trying to. I don't know how long he'll be able to stand it, but he won't go nowhere else."

"Poor thing!" she exclaimed. "Poor thing!"

"Them's my sentiments, too, Clemmie."

"And no doubt he's a frail creature, too, and ought to have the best of care. So many of them are that way."

A violent fit of coughing seized the Captain.

"Lan' sakes! Now, what's the matter with you? Been going out without your rubbers, I'll warrant. Men are worse than babies when left to themselves. I do believe they'd die if the women-folks didn't look after them once in a while."

"We sartin would," choked out the Captain. "Do you suppose you can arrange it to come over?"

"When do you want me?"

"Right now. To-day. I come special for you."

"I'll go," decided Miss Pipkin impulsively. "It's plain as day that it's my duty. I am getting wore out in this place. They've been putting the work of three on me, and I ain't got the strength."

"It ain't right, Clemmie, for you to be wearing yourself out in this kind of work. God intended you for something better. I ain't proposing," he hastily added, lest his bird take the sudden notion to wing her way back into the bush.

Miss Pipkin gave him a quick look, and left the room. She very soon returned carrying a bundle beneath one arm, and clutching a bulging telescope suit-case in the other hand. From one end of the bundle protruded the head of a cat.

"What in tarnation you got in there, Clemmie?" asked the seaman, pointing toward the bundle.

"You didn't think I was going to leave my Tommy behind to be starved and abused, did you?"

"Hadn't thought about that," meekly admitted the Captain, as he took the telescope.

"Have you got a trunk to send over?"

"No."

Miss Pipkin breathed a deep sigh of relief as they passed out of the gates. She looked back at the weather-beaten old buildings of the County Farm into which ten years of her life had gone. But she felt no pang on leaving.

The Captain kept up a constant stream of conversation on the way down to the wharf. Suddenly, Miss Pipkin stopped, and suspiciously eyed the seaman.

"Josiah, how are we going back?"

"In my Jennie P."

"In your what?"

"In my power-boat, the Jennie P."

"Josiah Pott! You know I ain't been aboard a boat for more than twenty year, and I ain't going to start out on the thing, whatever-you-call-it!"

It appeared as if the Captain would have to come another day, in another sort of vehicle, to carry home his newly-found housekeeper. He again led trumps.

"The minister come all the way over with me to get you."

"He did?"

"Sartin did."

"Poor thing! He's been treated so scandalously that he's willing to do 'most anything. Well, it may be the death of me, but I've got this far, and I may as well go on."

Mr. McGowan was waiting for them at the end of the wharf. The skipper introduced them with a malicious wink at Miss Pipkin as he indicated the physical strength of the minister. Her face flushed as nearly crimson as it had in years. When they finally got into the dory she leaned close to the Captain and set his staid old heart palpitating. Mr. McGowan was engaged, waving to the girls in the Jennie P.

"You ain't going to tell him what I said about his being delicate, and the like, are you, Josiah?"

He answered with a vigorous shake of the head as he leaned back to draw the oars through the water. Each time he swung forward he looked into the eyes of Miss Pipkin. Did he imagine it, or did he see there something more than interest in her own question?

Aboard the Jennie P. the young ladies took charge of Miss Pipkin, and soon they were chatting companionably. The girls had removed the door to the cabin, and laying it from seat to seat, had improvised a table. Over it they had spread cloths, and on the cloths were plates piled high with good things. The odor of coffee greeted the Captain's nostrils, as he came forward after securing the dory.

"Well, I'd like to know! Where in tarnation did you get the stove to b'ile the coffee on?" he asked, sniffing the air.

"We brought it with us," replied Elizabeth.

"You fetched a stove in them baskets?"

"Certainly. Come and see it."

She drew her old friend toward the cockpit. There stood the steaming coffee-pot over an alcohol flame.

"Well, I swan!"

Paper plates were scattered about over the improvised table, chicken piled high on some, sandwiches on others, doughnuts, cream-puffs, and apple tarts on still others. Indeed, not a thing had been left out, so far as the Captain could see.

"If this ain't the likeliest meal I ever see, then, I'd like to know. I feel right now as if I could eat the whole enduring lot, I'm that hungry," declared the skipper.

Elizabeth served, moving about as gracefully as a fawn. Mr. McGowan watched her with no attempt to hide his admiration. The one question in his mind all day had been: what did she think of him for his part in the affair at the Inn? He decided that he would take advantage of the first opportunity to prove to her that no other course had been left open for him.

Dinner over, the Captain filled his pipe, and stood in the door of the cabin. He smoked quietly, and watched the ladies put the things away. Miss Pipkin was folding the cloths, and on her the seaman's gaze came to a rest. Would the old home seem different with her in it?

"Hadn't we better start?"

The Captain jumped. "I cal'late I'm getting nervous, jumping like that."

"Or in love?"

"Maybe you're right, Mack."

"Honest confession?"

"I ain't confessing nothing. I was referring to your idea that we'd best be under way," explained the Captain, with a wry smile.

As he spoke he leaned over the engine, and gave it a turn. Tommy, Miss Pipkin's black cat, was mincing contentedly at some scraps when the chug-chug of the exhaust shot from the side of the boat. Tommy shot from the cockpit. He paused on the upper step, a startled glare in his eyes. He forgot the tempting morsels; he forgot his rheumatism; he was bent on flight. And fly he did. With a wild yodeling yell he sprang forward. Like a black cyclone he circled the deck. On his fourth time round he caught sight of the minister's legs. He and Elizabeth were standing at the wheel, ready to steer the boat out of the harbor. To the cat's excited glance the man's legs suggested the beginnings of tree trunks, at the top of which there was safety and repose from the spitting demon at the side of the boat. Like a flying bat he made the leap. But he had misjudged both the distance and his own rheumatic muscles. He landed on the girl, and came to a rest half-way to her shoulder. His claws sank into the thick folds of her sweater. Elizabeth released her hold on the wheel, and with a cry fell back against the minister. A pair of strong arms lost neither time nor opportunity. With a little persuasion Tommy saw his mistake, and dropped to the deck. He took up his interrupted flight, finally coming to an uncertain rest somewhere aloft.

Elizabeth looked up, smiled, blushed like a peony, took hold the wheel, and gently released herself.

"Oh, thank you! Wasn't it stupid of me to let that old cat frighten me so?"

Mr. McGowan declared that he was delighted to have been of service, and his emotions began to be very evident to him.

It took considerable coaxing on the part of the Captain, and more clawing on the part of Tommy, before he could be convinced that the cabin was as safe as the mast. At last he gave in and came down, and as the boat left the harbor he was purring contentedly, folded safely in the arms of Miss Pipkin.

Before they reached Little River harbor, Miss Pipkin had many times declared she was going to die. The Captain as many times remonstrated with her, but she only showed a greater determination to die. When the boat was anchored, she refused to move or be moved. The minister lifted her bodily, and carried her to the dory. As he was handing her over the side into the Captain's arms, she objected to the transference by a sudden lurch, which sent the minister to his knees. His foot caught on the gunwale, and his ankle was severely wrenched. On releasing his shoe string that night he discovered a serious sprain.



CHAPTER VII

"Lan' sakes!" exclaimed Miss Pipkin, who, fully recovered, was busily engaged in the kitchen on the following morning when the minister entered. "Now, what is the matter with you, Mr. McGowan?"

He was leaning on the back of a chair which he was sliding along the floor in front of him.

"I twisted my ankle last evening as I was leaving the boat."

"You did! And you never said one word! How did you do it?"

"I slipped just as I handed you over the side."

"It was my foolishness that made you do it. Josiah!" she called, as the Captain came down by the rear stair. "Get me a basin of water and the cayenne pepper, quick!"

The Captain obeyed with alacrity. Miss Pipkin soon had the ankle in the water, and the water was a fiery red in color.

"It'll take the swelling out," she affirmed.

"Ain't you got it a mite too hot with pepper, Clemmie?"

"No, I ain't. That's all you men know about such things."

"Well, I didn't know."

The swelling began to disappear according to the prophecy of the housekeeper, but the skin took on the color of the reddened water in the basin. An hour later Mr. McGowan was undecided which was the more undesirable, the pain from the sprain, or the blisters from the treatment.

"Cal'late I'll run down to the Jennie P.," announced the Captain after breakfast. "You can't navigate that far, can you, Mack?"

"Josiah Pott! What on earth do you mean? Of course he can't, and you know it. I don't see what you want to go traipsing down to that thing for, anyhow; it ain't going to get loose, though it'd be a good loss if it did."

"It ain't likely she'll get away, that's sartin sure, but I thought I'd do a little work on her. I ain't had much time afore now, with all my cooking and keeping house. The minister said my engine wa'n't clean."

"Well, if you ain't been cooking better than you've been keeping house, the wonder is you ain't both dead," she said, peering about the room.

Fearing further comment, the Captain hastily left the house. On reaching the wharf, he was surprised to see Elizabeth walking from the far end to meet him.

"Morning, Beth. Out purty early for your constitutional, ain't you?"

"Good morning, Uncle Josiah. I've been waiting for you an awful long time. Are you going out to the Jennie P.?"

"That's my calculation. Want to go along?"

"If I may."

"Of course you can. Did you leave something aboard last night?"

"No. I just came down here on purpose to see you. I felt certain you would be going out."

"You come down just to see me? What do you want to see an old feller like me for? Now, if it was——"

"You, old! Who's been telling you that?"

"Nobody, 'cepting this infernal rheumatism. But I ain't quite as badly crippled up this morning as the preacher is, at that."

"Do you mean to say that the minister has the rheumatism?"

"No, he ain't got nothing as tame or ordinary as that. He started with a sprained j'int from the cruise, but he's going to have something far worse, if I don't miss my guess. Clemmie's been soaking his ankle in red pepper." He chuckled quietly as he helped Elizabeth into the dory.

"Soaking his foot in red pepper?"

"Yes. Hot as fire, too, it was. I asked if she didn't have the water a mite too red, but she said it wa'n't, and I cal'late she'd otter know."

"Isn't she the quaintest little woman? I remember her when I was a child, but she didn't like me one bit because I spilled some hot water on her once. Is she going to stay with you?"

"She's going to keep house," replied the Captain, drawing the dory alongside his power-boat. "Well, here we be, Beth."

Elizabeth sprang lightly over the side. She led the way to the roof of the cabin, where she sat down. When the Captain had taken his place at her side, she looked up eagerly into his eyes.

"I do so hope you will understand me, Uncle Josiah!"

"I've always tried to, Beth."

"I know you have! Tell me, did my—did any one you know have anything to do with making up that boxing match the other night?"

"There was a good many that had to do with it, unless I'm 'way off in my reckoning."

"Has Mr. McGowan said anything about Father in connection with the affair?"

"He ain't said nothing to me," responded the Captain.

"Uncle Josiah!" exclaimed the girl, her eyes growing wide in her earnestness. "I know Father has not treated Mr. McGowan one bit nicely since what happened at our house, and I don't know why. There must be some reason, though, for Father would not harm any one without just reasons. He is the best man in the whole world! But he has had his way so long with all the other ministers that he cannot become accustomed to the way Mr. McGowan ignores him. Father does a lot of good, and Mr. McGowan dare not think ill of him!"

"There, there, Beth," soothed the Captain. "You're trying to tell me something, but you're getting off the course. Just you tell me calm-like what it's all about. The fust thing to do is to get our bearings. Has some one been telling you that Mr. McGowan thinks and talks about your dad in the way you say?"

"No-o. But I've heard others say that Father knew all about the plans for that fight before it happened, and that he could have stopped it had he wished to. It isn't true! And if Mr. McGowan even thinks it's true he isn't fair. He will misjudge Father if he has the least idea that he would stoop to such a frame-up."

"I cal'late he ain't misjudging your father none, Beth. So far as disobeying orders goes, it's because he knows what's best. He ain't likely to go contrary, unless——"

"But I know he does misjudge Father," broke in the girl in an attempt to return to her former subject. "And Father feels it keenly. If he doesn't misjudge him, why doesn't he come to our house any more to ask advice about parish matters? He just goes ahead to suit himself. Do you think that fair?"

Captain Pott wanted to say no, in order to agree with his young friend, but her big blue eyes were too intent with eagerness to permit of anything but the truth, or to hedge. He chose the easiest way and hedged.

"I ain't in no position to answer that, Beth."

"Oh, I can't understand it at all! Why can't they be friends as they were at first? What has happened?"

"I can't answer that, neither."

"It's just because Father has refused to bow to him in some little matter, I suppose. Isn't there some way to get them together or at least to get them to compromise?"

"I'm 'feared it ain't in neither of 'em to do either one."

"I suppose not," she replied, a little catch in her voice. "But it is too bad to have the work go to pieces like it is just because they are both so stubborn."

"It sartin is, Beth." The seaman fidgeted. What could the girl be driving at?

"But I'm in sympathy with my father!" she cried.

"That's right for you, Beth. I'd think less of you if you felt any other way."

"If only Mr. McGowan would go to him!"

"Let's see if I get the hull drift of your argument. You say that you think your father is right, and the minister is wrong. That being your conviction you think the minister otter go to him and do a little apologizing. Well, he won't. What he's done is just as right to him as what your father thinks he'd otter done is right to your dad. To try to get 'em together would be like trying to mix 'ile and water, both of 'em good enough in their place, but when you try to mix 'em what you get ain't one nor t'other, and sp'iles both. Cal'late we'd best leave 'em as they are."

"I didn't mean that Mr. McGowan should go to Father and apologize. That would be too much like all of the others before him. But I did think you might suggest some other way to bring them together before things get worse."

"Beth, I'd like to accommodate you, if that's what you're asking of me, but if Mack McGowan had chosen any other way than the one he took, I'd cut him adrift, sartin as death."

The seaman felt the girl at his side stiffen and tremble against his arm as she turned from him. Despair seized him.

"Forgive me, Beth, for making you cry like that. I ain't nothing but a rough old sailor, and can't say things as they'd otter be said. Come, it ain't wuth crying over. What I meant was that I'd have disowned him, because I'd have known he was going contrary-wise to what he thought was right."

She trembled more violently than before. Too miserable for words, he seized her and turned her about. He was amazed to find no tears in her eyes.

"I wasn't crying," she choked, drawing the corner of her handkerchief from her mouth. "It struck me so funny, Uncle Josiah!"

"Your notion of fun is the funniest I ever see," he commented. "Mind telling me what it was that tickled you so?"

"You! Captain Josiah Pott! Threatening to disown the minister should he fail to toe your chalk-line! Where, may I ask, can one find a more high-handed tyranny of spurned authority than that? It's too funny for words!"

"I cal'late you'd do some disowning, too, if he'd go traipsing round asking everybody's pardon just because he steps on a few toes now and again."

"I disown him?" she asked, not able to check the rush of color to her cheeks. "Pray tell! Why——"



"Now, see here, Beth, there ain't no use of your pretending to me. I've got a pair of eyes, and I make use of 'em. You wouldn't want him a mite different, and if he was, you'd be as disapp'inted as me. I know what I'm talking about," he declared, holding up his pipe with a convincing gesture. "All that he's done is as religious to him as preaching a sermon, even that fight down to the Inn. It was a heap sight more religious than a lot of sermons I've listened to in my day."

"But, Uncle Josiah, don't you think his methods are a little too strenuous and out of the ordinary in dealing with spiritual derelicts?" she asked, trying hard to hide the pride which the Captain's observation had wakened.

"I ain't got much of an idea what you mean by spiritual derricks, Beth, but I'm going to say this: he's the fust real live preacher I ever see, and if he's got ways of bringing 'em in that's a mite off the set course, he's going to do it, and there ain't enough men living to stop him. He has found some of that queer sort of religion what he called anonymous down there to that Inn, and if he'd have taken water the other night he'd have lost every one of them boys. He fought that puncher because he was after the gang behind him. If things had gone against him, I'd have pitched in and helped him trounce the hull enduring lot, and I'd have felt mighty religious while I was doing it, too."

"But I think he might prove just as much a success and still not be so original. It doesn't pay when one's position and salary depend on how one acts."

"Mack's position and salary can hang from the same gallows, so far as he's concerned, if they go to putting muzzles on him."

"I'm so glad you said that!" exclaimed the girl, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

The seaman stared at her. What on earth could she mean? "Beth, you've sartin got me gasping to understand you this morning."

"I'm trying so hard to explain without actually telling you. He must leave the church!"

"Must leave——Say, what in tarnation do you mean?"

"Please, don't hint that I told you, but it has been decided by the vestry."

"I want to know!"

"It isn't to be on account of the fight, though. Oh, I was real bad and listened," she explained to the surprised seaman. "I didn't mean to at first, but I couldn't help hearing. Then, I had to listen to the rest. I shall tell Father what I have done just as soon as I can, for I know it was wicked of me. I felt I must come to you. They are going to find something in his sermons that isn't orthodox, and then, there is to be a church trial! That was what I didn't want to tell you for fear you wouldn't understand, but you didn't suggest anything for me to do, and I had to tell you. Can't you get Mr. McGowan to be careful what he puts in his sermons?"

"Am I to tell him whose orders they be?"

"Indeed, not!"

"A heap of good it will do, then, for me to say anything. He'd take it as a banter for a fight. Cal'late we'll have to trust to luck that he'll stick to the old chart."

Elizabeth slid from the roof of the cabin to the deck. She walked to the railing and looked over into the water. The Captain, thinking she was ready to go ashore, followed. She swung about, and stamped her foot, angrily.

"Why don't you men know how to act! Why doesn't he know how to behave himself!"

She turned back and looked out across the Sound. The mainland showed dim through the haze of the Indian Summer morning.

"Beth, I hate to see you worrying like this," said the Captain, a tremor in his voice. "I wish I could help you, I sartin wish I could."

She came to him, and laying her hand lightly on his sleeve, looked eagerly into his eyes.

"You dear old Uncle! Please, forgive me for telling you all I have. I am worried, dreadfully worried, about Father. He is so different of late. He takes everything so seriously where Mr. McGowan is concerned. He is not at all like himself. I'm afraid something dreadful will happen to him if things do not right themselves very soon."

"Now, don't you worry, Beth. Just you be patient. I cal'late there is something wrong, but there ain't no channel so long that it ain't got an outlet of some sort, and the rougher 'tis, the shorter it's li'ble to be. We're going to get out, you bank on that, and when we do, your daddy is going to be aboard."

"Thank you, Uncle Josiah. I'm ready now to go ashore."

The look of relief on her beautiful face, as the tears of gratitude filled her eyes, caused the Captain to swallow very hard, and to draw the back of his hand across his eyes, remarking that the smoke was getting into them. He was unmindful that his pipe had gone out long ago.

On his way home the skipper became uncomfortably aware of the seriousness of his promise to the Elder's daughter. He had pledged himself and his support indirectly to Jim Fox! What that might mean he could not foresee. He remembered what Elizabeth had told him concerning her father's condition, and this set a new train of thought going through his brain. He recalled that there had always been times since Jim Fox had first come to Little River when he had seemed dejected and melancholy. Could it be possible that there had been some physical disease working all these years in the Elder's body, and might that not be an explanation for the mental state into which he seemed to be heading? Might that not be the reason for his strange actions against the minister and himself?

Captain Pott entered the dining-room just as Miss Pipkin emerged from the minister's study. She was carrying a large crock. The seaman looked intently at the bowl.

"There was a mite too much pepper in that basin, Josiah. I was that excited about his ankle that I didn't notice how much I was putting in. It'll soon be better, now, for I was bathing it in this cream that Mrs. Beaver give me."

"Bathing his foot in—what?"

"Cream. It takes the soreness out."

"Clemmie, you're a wonder! But if that cream come from Eadie's I cal'late it won't be none too healing."

"I've been talking to the minister about the services," she said, placing the crock on the table. "The Ladies' Aid meets this afternoon. I'm going."

"You'd best get a life-preserver on."

"Josiah, you shouldn't talk like that. They do a lot of good. I ain't been to one for years. It's so Christian and nice to do things for others. That's what Aid means, aiding some one else."

"If I ain't 'way off, most of the aiding business runs to the tongues of them present. Most women lean to tongue, excepting you, Clemmie."

"Josiah, you ain't fit for the minister to live with! You shouldn't talk like that about the business of the Lord."

"Cal'late I am sort of a heathen. But I'll wager that you'll find them there aiders interested in some things aside the business of the Lord."

Miss Pipkin left him and hurried into the kitchen for broom and duster.

It was late in the afternoon when she had finished her house-cleaning, and sailed forth in the direction of the church. The Captain was sitting on the front steps of the chapel, and rose to meet her as she turned in at the gate.

"I hope the meeting ain't over," she said, breathless.

"Just got her off the ways, I'd say," he commented, jerking his head toward an open window through which came the sound of many voices. "You'd best tell 'em where you're staying, Clemmie, or you're li'ble to hear some things not intended for your ears."

She bridled past him and swept into the church. There was a brief pause in the buzz, but the hubbub that followed was doubled in intensity.

That evening while Miss Pipkin was placing the food on the table she appeared worried. She inquired solicitously concerning the minister's ankle, but there was a distant polite tone in her voice. After supper she asked the Captain to dry the dishes for her, and went to the kitchen. The seaman took his place at the sink only to have the cloth snatched from his hand.

"Josiah,"—she whispered,—"close that door to the dining-room, I've got something to ask you."

"Ain't you going to let me dry them dishes for you?"

"Of course not."

The door was closed, and the Captain came back to the sink.

"What's wrong with Mr. McGowan?"

"Too much red pepper, I cal'late."

"Don't be silly. You know what I mean. There is something awfully wrong. I can't help noticing it."

"What makes you think that, Clemmie?"

"What I heard this afternoon.... And, you know, the most of 'em knew me, but none excepting Mrs. Beaver knew where I was staying, and she didn't tell. She come over and set down by me, different from what she used to be, quiet and real refined."

"Eadie Beaver quiet, you say? Well, I cal'late the million is coming, sartin sure."

"Millennium or no millennium, that's the truth. I was kind of 'feared at first that she wasn't real well."

"She'd be a real cur'osity in this here new state of hers," mused the Captain.

"Well, I begun to hear things about him,"—she pointed toward the closed door,—"and Mrs. Beaver was that indignant that she didn't know what to do. From all I heard, it seems the minister has been doing things he has no right to do, fighting and the like. Then, too,"—came in an awed tone,—"he ain't orthodox. He's preaching all sorts of new-fangled ideas that he shouldn't mention in the pulpit, and though you don't know it, Josiah, that is hairsay! That is worse than killing a man, because it sends their souls to hell."

"If I was you, Clemmie, I'd wait and judge his preaching for myself. You ain't heard him yet."

Miss Pipkin agreed to the fairness of the Captain's proposition, but she was still troubled.

"Josiah, there's going to be some sort of meeting next Sunday night after the regular service, and there is going to be something done to get Mr. McGowan out of his church. Of course, if he ain't orthodox, I'd hate to see the meeting interfered with, but——"

"Clemmie, I ain't up on this hairsay and orthodox stuff, and I ain't sartin I want to be. It all sounds like mighty dry picking to me. But I've been thinking, and I've decided that whatever them things are they ain't real religion. And I've decided that the Lord ain't been sitting in on them church meetings for quite a spell. I cal'late I'll be on hand next Sunday night with a special invitation for Him to cut the pack for this new deal."

Miss Pipkin looked as though she expected him to be struck dead. But he was not. This fact decided her in favor of being present to witness the thing which the Captain intended to do.



CHAPTER VIII

On Sunday evening the chapel was packed. It was evident that many were there, not for the service, but for what promised to be a sensational after-meeting. Members of the Athletic Club were scattered through the room, and the same dogged determination was on their faces as on the night of the boxing affair.

Mr. McGowan hobbled up the pulpit stair. He announced his text: "Launch out into the deep and let down your nets." Captain Pott felt Elizabeth, who was sitting beside him, stiffen. Miss Pipkin leaned forward in her eagerness to catch every word, and as the minister proceeded her expression changed from perplexity and doubt to one of deep respect. There were others who followed the thought of the sermon with keen interest. Elder Fox was present, for the first time in weeks. Occasionally, he would write something on a pad, and then lean back to pull at his silky chops.

Throughout the sermon Mr. McGowan spoke with tense earnestness.

"The time has come when the church must cut the shore lines that have been binding us to the past. If a man persists in dragging the shore line he may get a few good fish, but that does not set aside the fact that he is either a poor fisherman or a coward. He must know the habits of the fish, and go where they are.... The same thing may be said of the church. We may produce a few fair Christians by dragging shore lines of church doctrine, but our success will be due more to luck than to a knowledge of the working of God's laws.... We have been long-shore Christians for a good many centuries; the day has come for us to break away from the surf of man-made ideas, and launch out till we can feel the swell of a boundless love, a love not confined to the letter of denominational law or creed. We must get into us the spirit of Christianity. We must recognize the fact that the spirit is not a thing that we can confine to sand-lined beaches of narrow conceptions of faith and salvation that now exist in our churches....

"Here in Little River we have been an excellent example of what I mean. We have been admiring ourselves,—and not without just cause,—while the world we ought to be serving is forced to take its stand on the outside, ofttimes with ideals greater than our own.... We have substituted doctrine for Christianity, the letter of the law for the spirit of freedom. We have slavishly worshipped our beliefs about God, instead of worshipping God.... And what is the result? We have shut our doors to many who hold a greater faith than our own; or we have forced them out with no faith because of our own selfish religious intoxication. Of this very thing, this church has been guilty....

"We must admit blame for many conditions that exist in our town. Let us purge ourselves before we seek to cleanse others. Let us first launch out before we call to others to follow. Let us learn the laws by which God works, and then shall we have no trouble to fill our nets."

After Mr. McGowan had finished, he stood looking out over his congregation. The Captain whispered to Elizabeth, "Ain't he the finest-looking specimen of human natur' you ever see, six foot of him standing up there reading the riot act to 'em! And I got all he said, too. I cal'late there's some here to-night that feel like they'd been overhauled and set adrift."

Without announcing the usual closing hymn, Mr. McGowan very quietly pronounced the benediction, and left the church by the rear door.

The only move that followed his leaving was made by the members of the Athletic Club. They filed out one by one, but reconvened beneath the window where the Captain sat inside. Captain Pott was plainly nervous when Mr. Fox rose and went forward. He opened the window slightly as though in need of fresh air.

The Elder clapped loudly for order, and the boys beneath the Captain's window joined in so heartily that the Elder was forced to shout for order.

"This meeting has been called for the members of this church, only!" he shouted. "Will those who are not members in regular standing adjourn to the rooms below to complete their visiting?"

Few heard, none obeyed. Instead, all began to take seats as near the front as possible. Mr. Fox grew red in the face, and dark of countenance. But he preserved his dignity.

"Must I repeat that this meeting has been called for the members of the church. Will the others kindly leave us to ourselves?"

It became evident that there was no intention on the part of any to leave the room, and so the Elder called the mixed crowd to order.

The first half-hour proved so tame that some who had remained to see trouble, got up and went home. At last Mr. Beaver rose, and the audience caught its breath. He poised himself on one foot, and began to pump, blink, whistle, and finally to stutter.

"M-M-Mr. Ch-ch-ch-chairman!" he called in a high excited voice.

Elder Fox declared that Mr. Beaver had the floor, and Mr. Beaver proceeded to take it, at least a good part of the section round which he was hopping. People moved back and gave him room, for he needed plenty of space in which to make himself understood.

"The p-p-parish c-committee h-h-has d-decided that M-Mr. McGowan is not the m-m-man for our ch-ch-church. Elder F-F-Fox has the report of the c-c-committee. I m-m-move we h-h-h-hear him now!"

Mr. Fox mounted the platform and came forward to the edge. He looked into the faces of those before him with deep sadness in his own.

"Friends, this is one of the saddest moments of my life," he began, his voice shaking with feeling. "Some—er—have come to love our young brother who has been called to our church. And he has many very estimable qualities. For that reason I feel very keenly what I am about to say. The committee feels that Mr. McGowan holds ideas that are too far advanced for our humble little church. We must not overlook the fact that we hold sacred some of the things to which he flippantly referred to-night, and it is our duty to protect—er—the sacred doctrines which have been handed down to us from the more sacred memory of our fathers and martyrs of the past.

"Our minister does not believe in the divine inspiration of the Bible. The question was put to him by one of the members of this committee, and he replied—er—that even if every jot and tittle were personally dictated by God—which he doubted—the Bible would remain a sealed book unless it inspired those who read it. It is evident from this answer that he does not believe in—er—our sacred doctrine of the verbal inspiration of Scripture.

"You have heard him to-night, asking us—er—in the common slang of the dock to rid ourselves of all these doctrines on which the church has been founded. What he said proves that he does not believe in the fundamentals of Christian faith.

"I need not go back of this sermon so fresh in our minds to prove to your intelligence that Mr. McGowan is not orthodox. I could call to your attention many unfortunate statements, but I feel that it is not necessary. Your committee has gone over every detail—er—prayerfully and thoughtfully. Truly, it gives me a pain——"

"Get a bottle of Watkins' Relief!" piped a shrill voice through the partially opened window.

Taken by surprise, and with his mouth open, the Elder lost every expression of dignity as he gazed in the direction whence the advice had come. Before he could again gather up the threads of his closing remarks several men were demanding the floor. The Elder scanned the faces of all, in order to place friend and foe. He then fixed his glance on some one at the rear of the room. In answer to the Elder's nod a heavy basso pealed forth.

Every head turned about, and as the buzz of comment broke from the astonished crowd the Elder rapped for order. The Reverend Mr. Means of New York City moved ponderously forward.

The faces of the sympathetic ones in the audience became exceedingly serious as each looked into the face of the city clergyman. Certainly, this meeting must be of tremendous importance to lead so great a man to leave his metropolitan pulpit to attend a gathering in so small a church.

"We must have better order!" cried Mr. Fox, smiling a welcome to the visiting minister. "We have the unexpected pleasure of a visit from—er—our much-loved friend and brother. Shall we dispense with the business of the hour and hear what the Reverend Mr. Means may have on his heart?"

Mr. Means took his position near the moderator. With a long sympathetic look he searched the invisible among the shadows of the ceiling. He was calm, too calm, thought the Captain. He drew his frock coat about him, and plunged the fingers of his right hand in between the two buttons over his heart. That attitude, as of one weary with the struggles of men and yet tolerant because of long-suffering kindness, had an immediate effect on part of the audience. From somewhere near the center of the room applause started, and soon swelled to a moderate ovation. He acknowledged the respect shown him by bringing his eyes down to the level of his audience.

"Brethren,"—his voice trembled as he began to speak,—"I have no special message for you to-night; my heart is too sore from the things I have just seen and heard. I have been in the rear of this room during your entire service. I have listened to the unfortunate sermon which your bright young minister was so unwise as to preach. I do not marvel that you are like a flock of sheep having no shepherd; that sermon was enough to confuse even me, and I have been in the ministry a great many years. I feel I must say something, but I earnestly pray that it may not influence you in this matter which is yours to decide. I do not intend to even suggest what action you ought to take on the report of your parish committee. You must remember that what you do to-night may affect the future of our young brother, and you must not wreck that future. Mr. McGowan and I do not agree on matters of theology, but that fact does not prevent me from admiring some of his fine qualities to which your senior Elder referred to-night. Time may cool the ardor of his youth into sane and safe ideas.

"But,"—he lifted his hands toward heaven and his voice toward the people,—"what your parish committee chairman has told you in his report is true, only too true. We cannot afford to permit our churches to suffer from such teachings as those given you to-night, and I dare say, which have been given you many times past. Brethren, as great as is our love for this young minister, it is as nothing in comparison with the devotion that should be ours where the doctrines of our church are concerned. I opposed the ordination of Mr. McGowan in the New York Presbytery a year ago on the ground that he was not sound in doctrine, but when my brethren passed him over my protest I acquiesced as a Christian must always do when the voice of the majority speaks. But I must say that I greatly deplored the action taken at that time. Not that I hold any personal feelings against the young man, but because I am opposed to unorthodox men being called to our pulpits.

"Now, brethren, I should gladly waive all this," he continued, dropping his voice to a soothing whisper, "but theological differences are not all that stand between the young man and a faithful church. You've heard him suggest that the church which should be the house of God, and which Scripture calls the house of prayer, be turned into a playhouse for the community. I cannot imagine any man with a passion to save souls holding to an idea that he can accomplish this by desecrating the place of Divine Worship by turning it into a gymnasium. The only explanation possible is that Mr. McGowan has not been reared under the influences of our best families. Not that this is anything against his character, but fact is fact."

The room became quiet with interest in anticipation of what might follow. It was true that their minister had come to them as an unknown man, and they were certainly entitled to any disclosure of his past that the city man might wish to give. But there was nothing more said on the subject, and a murmur of disapproval ran over the audience.

"I have finished, except to say that I honor your Elder for the firm stand he has taken. Mr. Fox, you are to be congratulated on your courage, and although I repeat that I would not think of influencing the action of this assembly, I hope that every man and woman present may see fit to support you."

Captain Pott had grown more and more restless as time went on, and now as the city minister began to move from the platform the Captain began to move toward the open window.

"I am ready to entertain any motion which you care to make," announced the chairman.

Mr. Beaver rose. With the first hiss from his lips, the Captain dropped his hand over the sill and tapped the outside of the casing. Shouts went up from the boys who stood beneath the window. These were answered by cries of fire from various parts of town. The clang of the gong at the fire-house broke through the stillness of the crowded room. Distant alarms were rung with steady regularity. The meeting adjourned in a body.

The seaman had kept his promise, and "Providence had cut the pack for the new deal."



CHAPTER IX

In an incredibly short time the church was emptied. Each one in the crowd was shouting wild conjectures as to whose place was on fire as they ran in the direction of the blaze. It was a strange sight that met the gaze of the excited people as they came in full view of Dan Trelaw's place. He was busily engaged pouring oil on unburned sections of his hen-coops! Dan's hen-houses were located at the rear of his property, and had been built from a collection of dry-goods boxes. They had been the pride of his life, and as the crowd watched him pour on more oil, some one declared that Dan must have gone out of his senses. Nor would he permit the fire company to play their chemical hose.

"It's come to a purty pass," Dan stated to the onlookers, "when a man can't burn down his own coops to get rid of the mites without the whole blame town turning out to interfere. If the very last one of you don't clear out, I'll use my office as constable of this town to run the lot of you in!"

Hank Simpson was the chief of the volunteer corps, and Dan was chief of the Little River police system. The two chiefs argued as to the rights of the respective offices. Hank declared it was his official duty to put the fire out. Dan as emphatically declared it was his official duty to disperse the crowd. Finally, Hank admitted that Dan had a right to burn his own property so long as the property of others was not endangered. Some say that the chief of police answered the chief of the fire corps with a slow and deliberate wink.

"Now, all of you clear out and leave me to my fire," demanded Dan, as he poured on more oil.

Mr. McGowan had gone directly home after the preaching service. But he did not sleep that night. It was very early on Monday morning when he entered the kitchen. Miss Pipkin was already busy with the preparations for breakfast.

"Good morning, Mr. McGowan," greeted Miss Pipkin, cheerily. "Are you all right this morning?"

"Yes, thank you, Miss Pipkin."

"I was afraid you'd be sick after last night. I didn't sleep none, I was that excited when I got home. I've always been used to quiet meetings, and that last night after you left was a disgrace. But you wasn't to blame, no siree!" she finished with a vigorous shake of her head.

"I am not so sure that you would find very many to agree with you."

"Lan' sakes! How you do talk, Mr. McGowan! Don't you think I know what it's all about? I ain't blind, and what I couldn't see through, Josiah helped me with last night. You've got him to thank that they didn't vote you out of your position."

"Miss Pipkin, do you mean that the Captain spoke up in meeting?"

"Well, he didn't exactly talk, but he stopped others from talking, and that's about the same thing."

"How?" asked the minister eagerly.

"He kind of made me promise not to tell a soul, but I don't think he meant you. Anyhow, you should know. You see, he was setting by a window, and some of the boys from your club was on the outside, waiting. He h'isted the window a little so's to get his hand through. Hank Simpson and some others was at the fire-house, and when Josiah give them beneath the window some sort of signal, they all shouted 'Fire.' That was the sign for others scattered round town, and they begun to shout, too. Then, those at the fire-house got the cart out and rung the bells. It was real funny, but don't tell Josiah I said so, because he was all puffed up last night. He gave his signal just as Mr. Beaver got up to make a motion to have you put out. Things was pretty strong against you after Reverend Mr. Means spoke."

"Mr. Means!"

"Um-hm. He was there as big as life and sad as Job. He talked so tearful-like that everybody was upset, but they didn't get to take a vote, and that was a good thing, for there were some there that would have voted against you, being so worked up, who wouldn't think of it in their right senses. Mr. McGowan, them boys down to the Inn ain't going to let you go from the town if they can keep you here. Them boys with Josiah got up that fire scare last night."

"But it was more than a scare, I saw the fire."

"Course you did. 'Twas old Dan Trelaw's hen-house that was burned down. The mites was bothering him, and he wanted the insurance to build a better one."

"He burned his hen-house to collect insurance?"

"That's what Josiah said."

"That's absurd. There isn't an insurance company in Suffolk County that would write a policy on such junk, and if they did he could never collect a cent if it is known he burned it on purpose."

"Josiah said it wasn't a regular company, just local. I guess he'll get his money, all right. Are you ready for your breakfast?"

A boyish grin slowly lighted the minister's face as the truth of what had happened dawned on him.

"Do you mean——"

"I ain't saying right out just what I mean," she broke in as she paused on the kitchen threshold. "If you're real bright on guessing, you'll be able to figure that out for yourself. The thing that's most interesting to me is that the Lord is wonderful in the performing of all His works, and we ain't to question how He brings 'em to pass. I wasn't much in favor of the way Josiah done last night when he first told me, but the more I think about it, the more it seems all right to me. It didn't seem dignified and nice to break up even a bad meeting that way, but what else was he to do? You've got to stay here, that's plain, and if He ain't got saints enough to keep you He'll use the heathen.... Go right in and set down."

"I'm not sure that it will bring Providence or any one else much glory if I stay here," said the minister, with a faint smile.

Miss Pipkin returned with a steaming pot of coffee. She took her place at the table and for some time eyed the minister in silence. She was a thoroughgoing mystic in her religious faith, but her mysticism was tempered with such a practical turn of mind that it was wholesome and inspiring.

"Mr. McGowan, it is the will of God that you stay right here in this town. If we do His will we ain't to worry about the glory part," she emphatically affirmed. She placed the cups and saucers beside the coffee-pot and filled them. "You hit 'em hard last night, and that is exactly what's ailing them. You've been hitting 'em too hard for comfort. The shoe's pinching and they're not able to keep from showing how it hurts. You hit me, too," she observed, looking earnestly into the minister's eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"You needn't be, 'cause it wasn't you speaking. It was God speaking through you. Them words you used for your text rung in my ears all night long. I could hear 'em plainer than when you spoke 'em from the pulpit: 'Launch out into the deep.' Mr. McGowan, do you believe there is any forgiveness for the unpardonable sin?"

Evidently knowing that a minister of the Presbyterian faith could entertain but one answer and remain a moral man, she did not wait for a reply.

"It was years ago when I first heard them words. They were just as plain to me then as they was last night, but I refused to obey 'em. I didn't think I could stand the ocean. You know the way I was coming over from Riverhead. Well, I'm always sick on the water, and so I said right out that I wouldn't set sail as a seaman's wife. I was young and strong-headed then, and didn't understand. The man I said 'No' to went off, and I never heard from him but three times since. Some said he was drowned at sea, but I know he wasn't. I've been true to him all these years, trying to atone for my sin of disobedience. If he'd come back now, I'd go with him though he'd slay me."

Mr. McGowan wanted to smile at the mixed figure, but the serious face before him prevented him. "Did you say you never heard from him?" he asked, sympathetically.

"No. I didn't say that." She spoke sharply, but immediately her face and tone softened. "I didn't mean to speak cross, but I ain't spoke of this for years, and it upsets me when I think of what I done."

"We'll not speak of it, then."

"It won't disturb me the least bit. It sort of helps to talk about it. I'm thinking all the time about him, how brave he was. He was so manly, too, was my Adoniah."

"Adoniah?" questioned the minister, sitting up with a suddenness that astonished Miss Pipkin.

"Adoniah was his first name. I ain't spoke it out loud for years. It does sound sort of queer, doesn't it? I didn't think so then." She sighed deeply. "The spirit of the Lord seemed to go away from me when Adoniah did. If only he'd come back."

"He has not left you. God is not a hard master, leaving people alone for their shortcomings."

"Do you think He'll send him back to me?"

"He is here now. He has never left you."

Miss Pipkin looked dazed, then puzzled, and finally provoked. "I didn't think you'd trifle, or I'd never told you."

"Indeed, I'm not trifling."

"Then, what happened last night has gone to your head, poor thing! I'd ought to have known better than to have troubled you with my sorrows. You've got all you ought to carry. Poor thing!"

She slowly pushed her chair from the table, eyeing the minister as though expecting signs of an outbreak. But he motioned her back into her chair with a calmness that reassured her.

"I don't quite understand your meaning, I guess," she said.

"And it is quite apparent that I didn't understand yours. You were speaking of the Spirit of God leaving you, and I said He was right here with you——"

"Now, ain't I a caution to saints!" broke in Miss Pipkin. "I did mix you up awful, didn't I? What I was asking you about was if you thought God would send back my Adoniah Phillips. He——Why, Mr. McGowan, what's the matter now?"

The minister had risen and was looking oddly at the housekeeper.

"What on earth have I said this time?" she implored.

"You say your lover's name was Phillips, Adoniah Phillips?"

Miss Pipkin did not reply, but looked at him fixedly.

"Please, don't look at me like that, it makes me feel like I've been guilty of something," he said, trying hard to smile.

"You sure you ain't sick?"

"Of course, I'm not ill. I'm slightly interested in that peculiar name. I've heard it just once before, and I'm wondering if there is a chance of its being the same man."

"You've heard of him?"

"Well, I have heard his name."

"There ain't likely to be another name like his."

"Have you any idea where he is at present? You said a bit ago that you did not think he had been drowned at sea."

"No," she answered curtly.

"Can you so much as guess?"

"I don't know if he's living at all, so of course I ain't got no idea where he is," was her snappy reply. "Has he been telling you about me and him?" she asked, nodding toward the up-stairs where the Captain was presumably asleep.

"He hasn't said anything to me, but——"

"You'll promise not to repeat one word to him of what I just told you?" she begged, again jerking her head toward the stair.

"I promise to say nothing about what you have told me. But I have my reasons for wanting to know something about this man Phillips."

"What are your reasons?"

"I should not have said reasons, for I guess it is nothing but my curiosity that prompts me to ask. If you could tell me more of the facts I might be able to help you locate him."

"You mean you have an idea that he is still living?"

"I can't say as to that, but if you'll only help me I am certain that we shall find out something interesting."

Miss Pipkin drew the corner of her apron across the corner of her eyes, disappointment written deeply in every line and wrinkle of her face.

"There ain't much more to tell. Adoniah went to sea. I got a letter from him once from Australia. I wrote back saying I'd take back what I'd said. He answered it, but didn't say nothing about what I said to him. He spoke of meeting up with some one he knew, saying they was going in business together. I ain't never told anybody about that, not even Josiah, and I ain't going to tell you, for I don't think he was square with Adoniah, but I can't prove it."

The thud of heavy boots on the rear stair checked further comment she seemed inclined to make, and she dried out the tears that stood in her eyes with short quick dabs as she hurried to the kitchen.

"Lan' of mercy!" she exclaimed, returning with a smoking waffle-iron. "I clean forgot these, and they're burned to ashes. Here, don't you drink that cold coffee, I'll heat it up again," she said, taking the cup. Leaning closely to his ear, she whispered, "Mind, you ain't to tell a living soul about what I said, and him above all others."

The minister nodded.

Miss Pipkin entered the kitchen just as the Captain opened the stair-door. He sniffed the air as he greeted the two with a hearty "Good morning."

"Purty nigh never woke up. You'd otter have come up and tumbled me out, Mack."

"Rest well, did you?"

"Just tolerable. Clemmie," he called, "I seem to smell something burning. There ain't nothing, be there?"

"We was busy talking, and them irons got too hot."

"Talking, be you? Don't 'pear to have agreed with neither of you more than it did with those irons."

"You didn't pass a mirror on the way down this morning, or you'd not be crowing so loud, Josiah."

"No, that's a fact I didn't. You see, Eadie busted mine during that cleaning raid, and I can't afford a new one."

"You must have hit your funny-bone, or something," hinted Miss Pipkin as she poured a cup of the reheated coffee.

"Now, don't get mad, Clemmie. I was just fooling. Mack understands me purty well, and he'll tell you that I didn't mean nothing by what I said."

"Josiah Pott! You're that disrespectful that I've a good mind to scold you."

"What's up now, Clemmie?"

"The very idea! You calling the minister by his first name."

"I've done it ever since I knowed him, and he wouldn't like me to change now. Hey, Mr. McGowan?"

"Call me by my first name, Cap'n. Too much dignity doesn't sit well on your shoulders. You needn't mind, Miss Pipkin, for that is a habit that was formed before I became a minister, and there is no disrespect, I assure you."

"You mean you two knowed each other before you come here?"

"You see, Mack come to me one summer when I was starting on a cruise, and he was such a good sailor that we spent four seasons together after that."

"You never told me that," said Miss Pipkin.

"I didn't think to, Clemmie. Mack, have some more of these waffles. They're mighty tasty. It takes Clemmie to cook 'em to a turn."

"Just listen to that!" rejoined the housekeeper. "He ain't had none yet."

The minister did the unheard-of thing: he refused the offer of waffles!

"Mack, you ain't going to let them hypocrites and wolves in sheep's clothing come right up and steal your appetite out of your mouth, be you?"

Mr. McGowan assured him that he had no such intention.

"You don't know what you're missing," declared the Captain, smacking his lips to make the waffles appear more appetizing. "Have just one. Maybe your appetite is one of them coming kind, and I'll swan if 'tis that one taste of these would bring it with a gallop."

"Don't urge him if he don't want 'em, Josiah."

"Cal'late your talking must have gone to his stomach, hey, Clemmie?"

"Josiah!" she exclaimed, coloring. "He'll soon forget all I said to him."

"You sartin give it to 'em good last night, Mack. It was the best I ever heard. Got most of 'em where they lived, and you took 'em out into the deep beyond their wading-line, too. How about you, Clemmie?"

Miss Pipkin had important business in the kitchen.

"Yes, Mack, that sure was a ringer," continued the Captain as he helped himself to another layer of waffles. "Wonder if Clemmie took what you said about launching out as literal?"

Miss Pipkin returned with a plate of smoking waffles and placed them at the Captain's side.

"Thanks, Clemmie. I was 'feared you'd be setting out to sea in my dory after hearing that sermon last night," he said banteringly, with a twinkle in his eyes. "You'd best explain that your meaning was figur'tive, Mack. I looked up that word once and it means——"

"Josiah Pott! How can you be so cruel!"

With a sob that rose from the depths, Miss Pipkin fled, slamming the kitchen door after her.

"I'll swear, if she ain't crying!" exclaimed the surprised seaman. "What in tarnation do you suppose is up, Mack? You don't cal'late she thought I was relating to her for earnest, do you?"

He rose and started toward the door. Mr. McGowan laid a hand on his friend's sleeve.

"You'd better leave her alone."

"But I never meant nothing. She'd otter know that. I'm going to tell her," he said, pulling away from the minister, and trying the closed door. "Clemmie, be sensible, and come out of there. I didn't mean nothing, honest, I didn't."

But Miss Pipkin did not come out. She did not so much as answer his importunings. When the men were out of the dining-room she went up-stairs, not to appear again that day.

It was afternoon when Mr. McGowan hobbled out of his study, ate a light lunch, put a few sandwiches in his pocket, and started in the direction of the peninsula road that led to the beach.



CHAPTER X

Mr. McGowan left the highway a little beyond the Fox estate, and followed a crooked, narrow old footpath across-lots. The path dipped and rose with the contour of the land till at last it lost itself in the white level stretch of sandy beach. He walked on and on, so deeply absorbed in his thoughts that he was unmindful of the blistered foot. It was only when hunger pains conspired with the irritation of his foot that he dropped on a log. He drew the sandwiches from his pocket, and proceeded to devour them with genuine relish. For hours after he had finished his lunch, he sat with his back to the warming rays of the afternoon sun, and gazed vacantly across the wide stretches of sand-dunes.

The chill of the evening air roused him at length to the fact that he must be going home. But when he tried to rise, he discovered that his long walk had produced an ill effect on Miss Pipkin's remedy for sprained ankles. He dropped back again on the log, pondering on how he was to retrace his steps. The sun slipped into the misty haze that hung low above the horizon of the autumn sky. The shadows crept slowly up out of the waters and over the landscape. A thin cloud drifted in over the Sound, through which a pale moon pushed a silvery edge. With the gathering darkness there came a deep mystery over land and sea which seemed to creep round and envelop him.

Suddenly, the chill of the evening air was filled with a glowing warmth, as when one senses the presence of a friend. He stared about him. He listened intently. Could it be possible that this sudden change was only a mental fancy? He hobbled a short way up the beach, and as he rounded a promontory his weakened ankle turned on a loose stone. With an exclamation he settled down on the sand.

A figure near the water's edge rose as though startled. She paused, ready for flight. Then with an involuntary cry came toward the man huddled up on the sand.

"O dear, you are hurt!" she cried, as he attempted to rise.

"Elizabeth!" He spoke her name without thought of what he did, even as she had unknowingly used the word of endearment in her exclamation of surprise and concern.

"You should not have walked so far," she said, her tone cordial, but her eyes holding a smoldering fire. She helped him to a near-by stone, and sat down beside him.

"I somehow felt that you were near."

"You thought—what?"

"No, I did not think it, I just sensed it."

"You certainly have a very fertile imagination."

"Yes. It has been both my blessing and curse."

"But how did you come to feel I was about here?"

"I don't know. It does seem strange, doesn't it?" he mused. "But I was certain——"

"Perhaps you were thinking——" She stopped abruptly.

"Of you," he finished for her. "I was. I was feeling quite lonely, and couldn't help wishing I could talk with you."

"I heard to-day that you are thinking of leaving Little River," she suggested, tactfully changing what she considered a dangerous subject.

"You heard that I intend to leave? Pray, tell——"

"Then you're not going?"

"Quite to the contrary, I intend to fight this thing through if it takes a whole year."

"I'm so glad!" There was deep relief in her voice. She hesitated before continuing. "I had a terrible quarrel with Father this evening."

"Why did you do that?"

"I was very angry, and left him to come out here. It is the first time we have ever really fallen out. I've thought over some of the unkind things I said to him, and I am ashamed. I was about to go back to him when you fell on those stones and hurt yourself."

"You are right, Miss Fox. Go back to him. He will see differently, too, now that he has had time to think it all over."

"That is what worries me. He won't see differently, though I know he is in the wrong. I'm afraid we'll quarrel again."

"Then, I should wait. He will come to you in time."

"Father will never do that," she said, sorrowfully. "I hurt him more than I had any right." Searching the minister's face under the dim light, she concluded: "Please, Mr. McGowan, don't blame Father too severely for what happened last night! He is not himself."

"Miss—Elizabeth! Did you quarrel with your father about me?" His heart gave a bound into his throat.

She nodded, looking for the world like a child grown tall. Her eyes did not waver as they met the hungry look in his own.

"About me?" he repeated incredulously.

"Yes."

A wild passion swept through him as he listened to the quiet affirmative.

"It began about you and the Athletic Club. Father does not understand about your work among the boys. It ended about you and the action of the church last night."

"But that action was not voted through."

"I know. But the end is not yet."

"Do you think that my relations with the Boys' Club is all that was behind the abortive action last night?"

"I——"

"Would you advise me to give that work up for a while till all this blows over?"

"No, indeed!" she declared strongly. "I think——Well, he says that you are not orthodox. Do you need to preach like that?"

"If my theology is of poor quality, I can't help it. I can preach only what is truth and reality to me."

"But couldn't you be more careful how you do it? Couldn't you be less frank, or something? Should you antagonize your people so?"

"I'm sorry if I have really antagonized any one by what I say. Do you find anything unorthodox in my sermons?"

"That isn't a fair question to ask me. I'm not familiar with such things. I thought you might preach less openly what you believe so strenuously. Coat the pills so they'll go down with the taste of orthodoxy." She smiled faintly. "I hate to see you putting weapons in their hands."

"And do you honestly think I'd be dealing fair with myself or with those to whom I preach to sugar-coat my thoughts with something that looks like poison to me?"

She did not reply, but with a quick look she flashed from her wonderful eyes a message he could not fail to catch even in the semi-darkness. She dropped her hand lightly on his sleeve, and his fingers quickly closed over hers. She drew nearer. He could feel the straying wisps of fair hair against his hot cheek. His emotions taxed all his powers of self-control.

"We must be going," she said, rising. "Oh, I forgot your foot! You must wait here till I send the trap for you along the beach."

"Don't do that. I'll get on very well, if you'll help me a little."

"Please, wait till I send Debbs. You'll hurt yourself."

"Your father might object to my riding in his carriage," he remarked, with a light laugh.

"Mr. McGowan, you must not talk like that. I know you don't like him, but he is really the best father in all the world!"

"Forgive me, Miss Fox. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm afraid I was just trying to be funny. As a matter of fact, I do like your father, but there has been no opportunity——"

"Have you tried very hard to find an opportunity? You've stayed away from our house pretty consistently, and have not asked him one thing about the church work."

"I stayed away because I was requested to."

"That was only for the time he was ill."

"I'd be glad——"

"Why will you grown men act like children sometimes?"

"Miss Fox, please be seated again," requested the minister, a note of authority in his voice. "I have something important to say to you, and the time may not come again."

The girl obeyed, taking her place close beside him on the stone.

"I see you do not understand what has brought this trouble between your father and me. Neither do I, but I don't think that it's a matter of doctrine. Nor do I believe that it's the work I've been doing down at the Inn with the boys. Some cause strikes deeper than both. They are merely excuses. You remember that he made no objection to me in the beginning along these lines, and I preached no less strenuously then, as you call it, than I do now. In fact, had it not been for your father I doubt very much if the installation had gone through last summer. Behind the scenes there is another man, and he is pulling the strings while he directs the play. When I was ordained to the ministry in the New York Presbytery, that man fought me desperately, while he raised no objections to others who were ordained at the same time, and who held views far more radical than mine. That man was at the installation. When your father told me that he was coming, I made no protest, for I saw that there was a fast friendship between the two. You know what that man tried to do at the installation. You doubtless know, too, that he has been much with your father of late. You also saw him at the meeting last night.

"Miss Fox, if we knew all the facts, we should be able to lay the blame for this trouble and your father's condition right where it belongs."

"You refer to Mr. Means?"

"I do. What it is——"

"Mr. McGowan, if you think any man can influence my father, you do not know him. I dislike Mr. Means, maybe because he is so preachy. But he cannot influence Father."

"I wish I could believe that!"

"You must believe it. You are letting your imagination color your judgment."

"I should like to believe anything you tell me, but I can't believe anything else than that Mr. Means stands behind this whole mess. Just why, I don't know, but it looks very much as though there is a skeleton concealed in his closet, and he's afraid that I'm going to let it out."

"Why did you say that?"

"I don't know. I can't see what connection I could possibly have with the man."

"You are talking nonsense!"

"Perhaps, but truth sometimes masquerades in the garb of the court fool."

"Just what do you mean?"

"I wish to heaven I knew!"

"Do you think——" She paused. She searched his face, which was dimly and fitfully lighted by the moonbeams as they broke through the phantom-like clouds that were beginning to sweep the heavens. "Tell me, please, just what it is you are thinking."

"I dare not. But there is some reason not yet come to light, and it is sheltered in the mind of Mr. Means."

"Perhaps he knew you before you entered the ministry?" she half suggested, half questioned.

"I have no recollection of even so much as meeting him before coming before the ordaining Presbytery of which he was a member. So far as the history of my life is concerned, he may find out the whole of it, if he so wishes. It wouldn't make very interesting reading, though. Miss Fox,"—his voice took on the quality of his earnestness,—"if you have any way of finding out what the actual cause is for the conditions in my church, I shall do all in my power to make amends, providing the fault is mine."

"Why don't you go to him? He might be reasonable, and listen to you."

"Didn't I go to him? Didn't I try to find out what I had done till you and the doctor forbid my coming again?"

"I don't mean Father. Why don't you go to Mr. Means?"

"Would you, if you were in my position?"

She shook her head decidedly. "But I don't like him."

"Perhaps that may be my reason, too."

"But I thought all ministers had to love everybody."

"We might love the man, but not his ways."

"There's no merit in saying a thing like that when a man and his ways are one and the same thing, as is the case with Mr. Means."

"I'm honest when I say I have nothing against Mr. Means. I don't know the man well enough for that. I suppose he can't help his ways."

"There, you've gone and spoiled it. I was beginning to think that you are like other men."

"Like other men?"

"Men who love and hate. I suppose you'll be telling me next that you are really fond of that man who fought you at the Inn."

"He was a good boxer," was the enthusiastic reply.

"And you like him?"

"I might if I knew him."

"Can you fight everybody like that, and still have love for them?"

"Self-control is the better word. Unless a man can learn that, he had better stay out of the ring. What is true in boxing, is just as true in life."

"But, when there are those who threaten to wreck your whole life and your work, what are you going to do?"

"That is the time when one needs to summon every ounce of self-control he possesses. It is when the other man is seeking to land a knock-out blow that one needs to keep his head the coolest, for unless he does he can't make his best calculations."

"Oh, Mr. McGowan! You'll keep that way in this trouble, and not let any of them get in that kind of blow?"

"Yes, if you will only help me."

"I help you? But I can't!"

"No one else can."

"Oh!" cried the girl, beginning to take in the meaning of his words.

"Elizabeth——"

"Don't say it, please!" Her fingers went to her lips in a hurt gesture. "You may spoil everything."

"I must speak. I love you! I have loved you from the first day beneath that old elm-tree on the Captain's place."