"Awh, Eve, is it?" exclaimed Zebedee. "Why, how long's t'wind veered
round to your quarter, my maid? Be you two sweetheartin' then, eh?"

"I've been all day up to Aunt Hepzibah's," said Eve quickly, endeavoring
to cover her confusion, "and Adam came to fetch me back: that's how it
is we're together."

"Wa-al, but he needn't ha' fetched 'ee 'less he'd got a mind for yer
company, I s'pose," returned Zebedee with a meaning laugh. "Come, come
now: 't 'ull niver do for 'ee to try to cabobble Uncle Zibedee. So you
and Adam's courtyin', be 'ee? Wa-al, there's nuffin' to be said agen
that, I s'pose?" and he looked round as if inviting concurrence or
contradiction.--"Her's my poor brother Andrer's little maid, ye knaw,
shipmates"--and here he made a futile attempt to present Eve to the
assembled company--"what's dead--and drownded--and gone to Davy's
locker; so, notwithstandin' I'd lashins sooner 'twas our Joan he'd ha'
fix'd on--Lord ha' massy!" he added parenthetically, "Joan's worth a
horsgead o' she--still, what's wan man's mate's another man's pison;
and, howsomedever that lies, I reckon it needn't go for to hinder me
fra' drinkin' their healths in a drap o' good liquor. So come along, my
hearties;" and, making a movement which sent him forward with a lurch,
he began muttering something about his sea-legs, the effect of which was
drowned in the shout evincing the ready satisfaction with which this
proposal for friendly conviviality was hailed.

Eve drew in her breath, trying to gather up courage and combat down the
horrible suspicion that Uncle Zebedee was not quite himself, didn't
exactly know what he was saying, had taken too much to drink. With
congratulatory intent she found herself jostled against by two or three
others near her, whose noisy glee and uncertain gait only increased her
fears. What should she do? Where could she go? What had become of Adam?
Surely he would not go and leave her amongst--

But already her question was answered by a movement from some one
behind, who with a dexterous interposition succeeded in placing himself
between Uncle Zebedee and herself.

"Father," and Adam's voice sounded more harsh and stern than usual,
"leave Eve to go home as she likes: she's not used to these sort o'
ways, and she will not take things as you mean them."

"Eh! what? How not mane 'em?" exclaimed old Zebedee, taken aback by his
son's sudden appearance. "I arn't a said no harm that I knaws by:
there's no 'fe