ent with father and that he was right and I was wrong. I
apologized for my behavior toward him. Now, I think, perhaps, if you ask
him, he will come."

The captain looked at her. He realized the sacrifice of her pride which
writing that letter must have meant, and that she had done it for him.
He was touched and almost sorry she had done it. He took both her hands
in his.

"Dearie," he said, "you shouldn't have done that. I didn't expect you
to. I know you did it just for my sake. I won't say I ain't glad; I am,
in one way. But 'twa'n't necessary, and 'twas too much, too hard for you
altogether."

"Don't say that," she begged. "Too much! I never can do enough. Compared
to what you have done for me it--it.... Oh, please let me do what little
I can. But, Uncle Elisha, promise me one thing; promise that you will
not ask me to meet him, if he should come. That I couldn't do, even for
you."

CHAPTER XXI

Promises of that kind are easier to make than to keep. The captain
promised promptly enough, but the Fates were against him. He made it his
business to go to town the very next day and called upon his friend. He
found the young man in a curiously excited and optimistic frame of mind,
radically different from that of the past few months. The manuscript of
the novel was before him on the desk, also plenty of blank paper.
His fountain-pen was in his hand, although apparently, he had written
nothing that morning. But he was going to--oh, yes, he was going to! He
was feeling just in the mood. He had read his manuscript, and it was not
so bad; by George, some of the stuff was pretty good! And the end
was not so far off. Five or six chapters more and the thing would be
finished. He would have to secure a publisher, of course, but two had
already expressed an interest; and so on.

Captain Elisha drew his own conclusions. He judged that his niece's
letter had reached its destination. He did not mention it, however, nor
did Pearson. But when the captain hinted at the latter's running out to
the house to see him some time or other, the invitation was accepted.

"That's fine, Jim," declared the visitor. "Come any time. I want you
to see what a nice little place I've got out there. Don't stand on
ceremony, come--er--next week, say." Then, mindful of his promise, he
added, "You and I'll have it all to ourselves. I've been cal'latin' to
hire a sail-boat for the summer; got my eye on a capable little sloop
belongin' to a fel