oth stared with growing comprehension at Cap'n Amazon. It
began to percolate into her brain that possibly this strange-looking
seaman possessed qualities of apprehension for which she had not given
him credit.

"Sit down, ma'am," said Cap'n Amazon hospitably. "Abe ain't here, but
I cal'late he'd want me to do the honors, and assure you that you are
welcome. He always figgers on having a spare berth for anybody that
boards us, as well as a seat at the table.

"Betty," he added, turning to the amazed Mrs. Gallup, just then
appearing at the living-room door, "tell Louise her A'nt 'Phemie is
here, will you?"

"Say Mrs. Conroth, woman," corrected the lady tartly.

Betty scowled and went away, muttering: "Who's a 'woman,' I want to
know? I ain't one no more'n _she_ is," and it can be set down in the
log that the "able seaman" began by being no friend of Aunt Euphemia's.

It was with a sinking at her heart that Louise heard of her aunt's
arrival. She had written to her Aunt Euphemia before leaving New York
that she had decided to try Cape Cod for the summer and would go to her
mother's relative, Captain Abram Silt. Again, on reaching the store on
the Shell Road, she had dutifully written a second letter announcing
her arrival.

She had known perfectly well that some time she would have to "pay the
piper." Aunt Euphemia would never overlook such a thing. Louise was
sure of that. But the idea that the Poughkeepsie lady would follow her
to Cardhaven never for a moment entered Louise's thought.

She had put off this reckoning until the fall--until the return of
daddy-professor. But here Aunt Euphemia had descended upon her as
unexpectedly as the Day of Wrath spoken of in Holy Writ.

As she came down the stairs she heard her uncle's voice in the
living-room. Something had started him upon a tale of adventure above
and beyond the usual run of his narrative.

"Yes, _ma'am_," he was saying, "them that go down to the sea in ships,
as the Good Book says, sartain sure meet with hair-raisin' experiences.
You jumped then, ma'am, when old Jerry let out a peep. He was just
tryin' his voice I make no doubt. Ain't sung for months they say. I
didn't know why till I--I found out t'other day he was blind---stone
blind.

"Some thinks birds don't know nothing, or ain't much account in this
man-world----But, as I was sayin', I lay another course. I'll never
forget one v'y'ge I made on the brigantine _Hermione_. That was '