as ordinary, but as sure as I get it
clean, in he comes stamping about with his muddy boots and tracks it
from end to end. I believe he does it a-purpose."

"O, Prue!" began Aunt Hitty, in a pleading tone, while Aunt Greg broke
in, indignantly:

"A-purpose! Well! Charley's mind is on other things, I can tell you, and
it it's no wonder he sometimes forgets to wipe his feet."

"Other things! Getting off to sea, I suppose you mean?" remarked Aunt
Prue, grimly. "He's pulled the wool over your eyes and Hitty's finely, I
declare. As for me, if he's goin' on to behave as he has done for a
spell back, the sooner he quits the better. I wash _my_ hands of him,"
and Aunt Prue flounced into the buttery just as Grandmother came in at
the other door.

"Charley is it you was talking about?" she asked. "Did you hear him
coughin' last night? I did, and I couldn't sleep a wink for worrying
about it. A real deep cough it was. Do you suppose it the lungs, and
what's good for him to take?"

"He's well enough except for mischief," put in Aunt Prue through the
buttery door.

"Prue never thinks anything ails anybody," said Mrs. Brush, sinking her
voice to a whisper. "I'm really consarned about Charley. He don't eat
hardly anything at dinner. That aint a bit natural for a growin' boy.
And he says he lies awake a great deal of nights. He thinks it's the air
about here makes him feel bad, but I don't know if he's right about it.
I wish we'd a doctor here to say if going off to sea--or
somewhere--would be the best thing for him. I'm clean confused as to
what we'd best do about it, but I'm real uneasy in my mind."

Charley, coming in just then, chuckled to himself as he heard her.

So things went on, and by October Charley had his wish. It was settled
that he should go to sea. Aunt Greg drove over to Wachuset Center and
consulted with old Mr. Greg, her father-in-law, who was the wise man of
the neighborhood.

"Let him go--let him go," was Mr. Greg's advice. "When a chap like that
gets the bit between his teeth, it's no use to keep yanking at the
reins. Let him go for one long cruise, and see how he likes it. Ten to
one he'll come back then and be glad to settle down. He aint the kind of
boy to make a sailor of, I judge. There's Ben Bradley,--my first wife's
cousin,--captain of one of them China traders; ship Charley with him.
I'll write a line, and I guess Ben'll kind of keep an eye on him for the
sake of the connection."

So, late in