d man
was awake, there seemed nothing left to be done until the breakfast bell
should ring.

Abe sat down, and looking hard at his open carpet-bag wondered audibly
if they had "everythin' in." The last time they two had packed Abe's
wardrobe for a visit to Bleak Hill had been many years ago, when Samuel
Darby, though somewhat Abe's junior, was keeper of the Life-saving
Station, and Abe was to be gone for a whole season's duty. Then all of
his possessions had been stowed in a long, bolster-like canvas bag for
the short voyage.

Both Angy and her husband recalled that time now--the occasion of their
first, and almost of their last, real separation.

"A week'll pass in no time," murmured Angy very quickly, with a catch in
her voice. "Lookin' ahead, though, seven days seems awful long when yer
old; but--Oh, law, yes; a week'll pass in no time," she repeated. "Only
dew be keerful, Abe, an' don't take cold."

She perched herself on her little horsehair trunk which she had packed
to take to Blossy's, looking in her time-worn silk gown like a rusty
blackbird, and, like a bird, she bent her head first to one side and
then the other, surveying Abe in his "barrel clothes" with a critical
but complimentary eye.

"Wonder who made that necktie?" she questioned. "I'll bet yer 't was
Aunt Nancy; she's got a sharp tongue, but a lot of silk pieces an' a
tender spot in her heart fer yew, Abe. Ruby Lee says she never thought
yew'd bring her around; yew're dretful takin' in yer ways, Father,
thar's no use a-talkin'."

Abraham glanced at himself in the glass, and pulled at his beard, his
countenance not altogether free from a self-conscious vanity.

"I hain't sech a bad-lookin' feller when I'm dressed up, be I, Mother? I
dunno ez it's so much fer folks ter say I look like Abe Lincoln, after
all; he was dretful humbly."

"Father," Angy said coaxingly, "why don't yer put some o' that air
'sweet stuff' Miss Abigail give yer on yer hair? She'll feel real hurt
ef she don't smell it on yer when yew go down-stairs."

Abe made a wry face, took up the tiny bottle of "Jockey Club," and
rubbed a few drops on his hands. His hands would wash, and so he could
find some way of removing the odor before he reached the station
and--the men.

"I'll be some glad ter git away from these here fussy old hens fer a
spell," he grumbled, as he slammed the vial back on the bureau; but Angy
looked so reproachful and grieved that he felt ashamed of his
ing