l of her own. She brought her here that
time I was home after my first v'y'ge on the _Susan Gatskill_. A
pretty baby if ever there was one."

"Ida May Bostwick! Bostwick was Sarah's married name. I heard
something about Ida May only the other day."

"You did?" exclaimed Cap'n Ira, much interested.

"Yes, Ira. Annabell Coffin, she who was a Cuttle, was visiting his
folks in Boston, and she learned that Sarah Bostwick's daughter was
working behind the counter in some store there. She has to work for
her livin', poor child."

"I swan!" ejaculated the captain.

Much as he had been about the world, Cap'n Ira looked upon most
mundane affairs with the eyes of the true Cape man. Independence is
bred in the bone of his tribe. A tradesman or storekeeper is, after
all, not of the shipmaster caste. And a clerk, working "behind the
counter" of any store, is much like a man before the mast.

"It does seem too bad," sighed Prudence. "She was a pretty baby, as
you say, Ira."

"Sarah was nice as she could be to you," was the old man's
thoughtful comment.

"Yes. But her husband, Bostwick, was only a mechanic. Of course, he
left nothing. Them city folks are so improvident," said Prudence. "I
wish't we was able to do something for little Ida May, Ira. Think of
her workin' behind a counter!"

"I am a-thinkin'," growled the old captain. "See here, Prue. What's
to hinder us doin' something for her?"

Prudence looked at him, startled.

"Why, Iry, you say yourself we can scurce help ourselves."

"It's a mighty ill wind that don't blow fair for some craft,"
declared the ancient mariner, nodding. "We do need help right here,
Prudence, and that gal of Sarah Bostwick's could certainly fill the
bill. On the other hand, she'd be a sight better off here on the
Cape, living with us, getting rosy and healthy, and having this old
place and what we've got left when we die, than she would be slavin'
behind a counter in any city store. What d'you think?"

"Ira!" exclaimed his wife, clasping her hands, potato knife and all.
"Ira! I think that's a most wonderful idea. It takes you to think up
things. You're just wonderful!"

Cap'n Ira preened himself like the proud old gander he was. He
heaved himself out of the chair by the aid of his cane, a present
from one grateful group of passengers that had sailed in his charge,
on the _Susan Gatskill_.

"Well, well!" he said. "Let's think of it. Let's see, where's my
glass? Here 'tis."

He seize