sitting posture, upon the floor.

"Crimustee," he gasped, as soon as he could articulate, "I'm--awk--I'm
drownded."

Albert put down the empty bucket and picked up the full one.

"Promise," he said again.

Laban Keeler rubbed his chin.

"I'd promise if I was you, Is," he said. "You're some subject to
rheumatism, you know."

Issachar, sitting in a spreading puddle, looked damply upward at the
remaining bucket. "By crimustee--" he began. Albert drew the bucket
backward; the water dripped from its lower brim.

"I--I--darn ye, I promise!" shouted Issachar. Albert put down the bucket
and walked back to his desk. Laban watched him curiously, smiling just a
little. Then he turned to Mr. Price, who was scrambling to his feet.

"Better get your mop and swab up here, Is," he said. "Cap'n Lote'll be
in 'most any minute."

When Captain Zelotes did return to the office, Issachar was
industriously sweeping out, Albert was hard at work at the books, and
Laban was still rubbing his chin and smiling at nothing in particular.

The next day Albert and Issachar made it up. Albert apologized.

"I'm sorry, Issy," he said. "I shouldn't have done it, but you made me
mad. I have a--rather mean temper, I'm afraid. Forgive me, will you?"

He held out his hand, and Issachar, after a momentary hesitation, took
it.

"I forgive you this time, Al," he said solemnly, "but don't never do
nothin' like it again, will ye? When I went home for dinner yesterday
noon I give you my word my clothes was kind of dampish even then. If
it hadn't been nice warm sunshine and I was out doors and dried off
considerable I'd a had to change everything, underclothes and all, and
'tain't but the middle of the week yet."

His ducking had an effect which Albert noticed with considerable
satisfaction--he was never quite as flippantly personal in his comments
concerning the assistant bookkeeper. He treated the latter, if not with
respect, at least with something distantly akin to it.

After Madeline's departure the world was very lonely indeed. Albert
wrote long, long letters and received replies which varied in length
but never in devotion. Miss Fosdick was obliged to be cautious in her
correspondence with her lover. "You will forgive me if this is not much
more than a note, won't you, dear?" she wrote. "Mother seems to be very
curious of late about my letters and to whom I write and I had to just
steal the opportunity this morning." An older and more appreh