him so this morning that he means to
give notice to-morrow; that is, if he don't save himself the trouble
by running off to sea."

"The twelfth in five years!" ejaculated Master Simon, stopping his
pipe viciously.

"And small blame to them! Married man or mariner--that's what a boy
is born for. Better dare wreck or wedlock than sit here and talk
about both. Take my advice, master, and marry the widow!"

Ann carried out her own matrimonial programme, at any rate, with
spirit and determination. Finding the first young farmer
satisfactory, she espoused him at the end of the month, and turned
her back on "Flowing Source." And Tom the tap-boy fulfilled her
prophecy and ran away to sea. And the old inn leaned after him until
its timbers creaked. And the autumn floods rose and covered the
meadows.

Master Simon sat and smoked, and made his own bed, and accomplished
some execrable cookery in the intervals of oiling his duck-gun.
Even duck-shooting becomes a weariness when a man has to manage gun
and punt single-handed. One afternoon he abandoned the sport in an
exceedingly bad temper, and pulled up to the jaws of Cuckoo Valley.
Here he landed, and after an hour's trudge in the marshy bottoms had
the luck to knock over two couple of woodcock.

He rowed back with his spoil, and was making fast to the ferry steps,
when a thought struck him. He shipped the paddles again, and pulled
down to Ponteglos. The short day was closing, and already a young
moon glimmered on the floods.

The woodcock were cooked to a turn; juicier birds never reclined on
toast. The waitress removed the cloth and returned with a kettle;
retired and returned again with a short-necked bottle, a glass and
spoon, sugar, a nutmeg, and a lemon; retired with a twinkle in her
eye.

"To fortify you!" said Mistress Prudence, rubbing a lump of sugar
gently on the lemon-rind.

"The night air," Master Simon murmured.

"--Against the damp house you're going back to," the lady corrected.

"You talk without giving it a trial."

"As you talk, in your parlour, of deep-sea voyages."

"As a ship's captain you would respect me perhaps?"

"No, for you haven't the head. But I should like your pluck.
If I saw you setting off for sea in earnest, I would run out and give
you a chance to steer a woman instead of a ship. You would find her
safer."

Master Simon emptied his glass, rose, and wound his great comforter
about his neck. The widow saw him