ved this son. When they returned from
their perilous quest in the storm, the first words Captain Sartell said
were; "Who must go up now, and break Lyddy's heart?"

She stood among the others, very still, the old faded mantilla folded
decently over her shoulders, the great dark eyes, _his_ eyes, shining out
even kindly from the worn face on those who came to speak to her.

Godfrey Cradlebow stood at the outer door, and addressed the people as
they entered. Some said, afterwards, that he had been drinking; others
declared he had not touched a drop for days. In the room where I stood, I
heard his musical, deep tones, now swelling with the fervor of his
harangue, now broken and trembling with emotion.

"Enter, my friends!" said this strange man. "Go in, and look on
quietness. What do we seek for most, my friends? Look out on the world.
It's a whole world of seekers. How they jostle against one another! How
they sweat! how they strive! how they toil! And why all this? What seek
they for? For quietness, my friends, even so--the quietness of wealth to
gain, may be, or competence; may be, the quietness of some renown. And
some go seeking over land and sea for their lost health, and quietness
from pain.

"My friends, within there was as restless a seeker as I ever knew. Pity
the old, my friends, but pity more the young! Never such dreams of rest!
Never such restlessness! Hush! when he heard, he answered well. He put
all by. Somehow, we think he has obtained--wealth, honor, perfect health.
My friends, pass in! behold this wonder!

"My friends, you look up at the sky. Ah, what a sky! purple and deep! Yet
I see something in your eyes that is not quietness; for storms will come,
too well you know, and the cold blasts of winter; but if you knew that
never any sorrowful, hard wind could sweep across yon blue--then, my
friends, you would look as he looks who lies within there. Pass in! pass
in! behold this wonder."

Within, Grandma Keeler stood with closed eyes and folded hands. Her
cheeks were wet. She wore a heavenly, trustful expression of countenance.
Her lips moved as if in prayer.

Aunt Sibylla Cradlebow rose in her place--majestic and weird she looked,
like some old Eastern prophetess, a grand forecasting in her shadowy
eyes.

"Gether in the sheaves," she began; "the bright sheaves, early ripe and
ready for the harvestin'; and begrudge not the Master of His harvestin'.
Why, O Lord, Lord, this sheaf, while there be them