ubtless Miss Howes resented his
"nosing in."

Thankful now began advertising in the Boston papers. And the answers to
the ads began to arrive. Sometimes men and women from the city came down
to inspect the High Cliff House, preparatory to opening negotiations for
summer quarters. They inspected the house itself, interviewed Thankful,
strolled along the bluff admiring the view, and sampled a meal. Then,
almost without exception, they agreed upon terms and selected rooms.
That the house would be full from top to bottom by the first of July
was now certain. But, as Imogene said to Captain Bangs, "If we lose five
dollars a week on everyone of 'em that ain't nothin' to hurrah about,
seems to me."

The captain had not piloted any new boarders to the High Cliff. Perhaps
he thought, under the circumstances, this would be a doubtful kindness.
But the time came when he did bring one there. And the happenings
leading to that result were these:

It was a day in the first week in June and Captain Obed, having business
in Wellmouth Centre, had hired George Washington, Mrs. Barnes' horse,
and the buggy and driven there. The business done he left the placid
George moored to a hitching-post by the postoffice and strolled over to
the railway station to watch the noon train come in.

The train was, of course, late, but not very late in this instance, and
the few passengers alighted on the station platform. The captain, seated
on the baggage-truck, noticed one of these passengers in particular. He
was a young fellow, smooth-faced and tall, and as, suitcase in hand, he
swung from the last car and strode up the platform it seemed to Captain
Obed as if there was something oddly familiar in that stride and the
set of his square shoulders. His face, too, seemed familiar. The captain
felt as if he should recognize him--but he did not.

He came swinging on until he was opposite the baggage-truck. Then he
stopped and looked searchingly at the bulky form of the man seated upon
it. He stepped closer and looked again. Then, with a twinkle in his
quiet gray eye, he did a most amazing thing--he began to sing. To
sing--not loudly, of course, but rather under his breath. And this is
what he sang:

"Said all the little fishes that swim there below:
'It's the Liverpool packet! Good Lord, let her go!'"

To the average person this would have sounded like the wildest insanity.
But not to Captain Obed Bangs of East Wellmouth. The captain spr