omfited on this account, or in bad
humor. On the contrary, as she sat back there in the ghostly shadows,
with her hands folded, and her hair combed out in resplendent waves on
either side of her head, she appeared conscious that every word she
uttered was taking root in some obdurate heart. She was, in every
respect, the picture of good-will and contentment.

But the face under Grandpa's antiquated beaver began to give me a fresh
shock every time I looked up at him, for the light and the air were
rapidly turning his rejuvenated locks and his poor, thin fringe of
whiskers to an unnatural greenish tint, while his bushy eyebrows,
untouched by the hand of art, shone as white as ever.

In spite of the old sea-captain's entertaining stories, it seemed,
indeed, "a long jaunt" to West Wallen.

To say that Fanny was a slow horse would be but a feeble expression of
the truth.

A persevering "click! click! click!" began to arise from Grandma's
quarter. This annoyed Grandpa exceedingly.

"Shet up, ma!" he was moved to exclaim at last. "I'm steerin' this
craft."

"Click! click! click!" came perseveringly from behind.

"Dum it, ma! thar', ma!" cried Grandpa, exasperated beyond measure. "How
is this hoss goin' to hear anything that I say ef you keep up such a
tarnal cacklin'?"

Just as we were coming out of the thickest part of the woods, about a
mile beyond Wallencamp, we discovered a man walking in the distance. It
was the only human being we had seen since we started.

"Hullo, there's Lovell!" exclaimed Grandpa. "I was wonderin' why we
hadn't overtook him before. We gin'ally take him in on the road. Yis,
yis; that's Lovell, ain't it, teacher?"

I put up my glasses, helplessly.

"I'm sure," I said, "I can't tell, positively. I have seen Mr. Barlow
but once, and at that distance I shouldn't know my own father."

"Must be Lovell," said Grandpa. "Yis, I know him! Hullo, thar'! Ship
ahoy! ship ahoy!"

Grandpa's voice suggested something of the fire and vigor it must have
had when it rang out across the foam of waves and pierced the tempest's
roar.

The man turned and looked at us, and then went on again.

"He don't seem to recognize us," said Grandma.

"Ship a-hoy! Ship a-hoy!" shouted Grandpa.

The man turned and looked at us again, and this time he stopped and kept
on looking.

When we got up to him we saw that it wasn't Lovell Barlow at all, but a
stranger of trampish appearance, drunk and fiery, and fixed in