es his children, with him on long voyages. To the
stay-at-homes came letters with odd, foreign stamps and postmarks. Our
what-nots and parlor mantels were filled with carved bits of ivory,
gorgeous shells, alabaster candlesticks, and plaster miniatures of
the Leaning Tower at Pisa or the Coliseum at Rome. We usually began
a conversation with "When my husband and I were at Hong Kong the last
time--" or "I remember at Mauritius they always--" New Orleans or
'Frisco were the nearest domestic ports the mention of which was
considered worth while.

But this is so no longer. A trip to Boston is, of course, no novelty to
the most of us; but when we visit New York we take care to advertise it
beforehand. And the few who avail themselves of the spring "cut rates"
and go on excursions to Washington, plan definite programmes for each
day at the Capital, and discuss them with envious friends for weeks in
advance. And if the prearranged programme is not scrupulously carried
out, we feel that we have been defrauded. It was the regret of Aunt
Sophronia Hallett's life that, on her Washington excursion, she had not
seen the "Diplomatic Corpse." She saw the President and the Monument and
Congress and "the relics in the Smithsonian Institute," but the "Corpse"
was not on view; Aunt Sophronia never quite got over the disappointment.

Probably no other Bayporter, in recent years, has started for Washington
on such short notice or with so ill-defined a programme as Captain
Cy. He went because he felt that he must go somewhere. After the
conversation with Asaph, he simply could not remain at home. If Phoebe
Dawes called, he knew that he must see her, and if he saw her, what
should he say to her? He could not tell her that she must not visit the
Cy Whittaker place again. If he did, she would insist upon the reason.
If he told her of the "town talk," he felt sure, knowing her, that she
would indignantly refuse to heed the malicious gossip. And he was firmly
resolved not to permit her to compromise her life and her future by
friendship with a social outcast like himself. As for anything deeper
and more sacred than friendship, that was ridiculous. If, for a moment,
a remark of hers had led him to dream of such a thing, it was because he
was, as he had so often declared, an "old fool."

So Captain Cy had resolved upon flight, and he fled to Washington
because the business of the "committee of one" offered a legitimate
excuse for going there. The