e, broiled fish and potatoes, a loaf of bread, and
stewed apples served in a cut glass dish with broken handles.

The meal over, the girl replaced the cotton cloth with a red one,
retrimmed the lamps, and disappeared into an adjoining room, carrying the
dishes. The old man lighted his pipe and seated himself in a large chair,
smoking on in silence. I opened my portfolio and began retouching the
sketches of the morning.

Outside the weather grew more boisterous. The wind increased; the rain
thrashed against the small windows, the leakage dropping on the floor like
the slow ticking of a clock.

As the evening wore on I began to be uneasy, speculating as to the
possibility of my reaching home that night. To be entirely frank, I did
not altogether like my surroundings or my host. One moment he was like a
child; the next there came into his face an expression of uncontrollable
hate that sent a shiver through me. But for the clear, steady gaze of his
eye I should have doubted his sanity.

There was no sign of the return of the boat. The old man became restless
himself. He said nothing, but every now and then he would peer through the
window and raise his hand to his ear as if listening. It was evident that
he did not want me over night if he could help it. This partly reassured
me.

Finally, he laid down his pipe, put on his oilskin again, lighted a
lantern, and pulled the door behind him, the wind struggling to force an
entrance.

In a few minutes he returned with lantern out, the rain glistening on his
white, bushy beard. Without a word, he hung up his dripping garments,
placed the lantern on the floor, and called the child into the adjoining
room. When he came back, he laid his hand on my shoulder and said, with a
tone in his voice that was unmistakable in its sincerity:--

"I am sorry, friend, but the boat cannot get back to-night. You seem like
a decent man, and I believe you are. I knew some of your kind once, and I
always liked them. You must stay where you are to-night, and have Emily's
room."

I thanked him, but hoped the weather would clear. As to taking Emily's
room, this I could not do. I would not, of course, disturb the child. If
there was no chance of my getting away, I said, I preferred taking the
floor, with my trap for a pillow. But he would not hear of it. He was not
accustomed, he said, to have people stay with him, especially of late
years; but when they did, they could not sleep on the floor.