o the
'Harbor.' An' bime-by, of a Sunday, maybe, when they can spare the time,
Posy Jane an' Billy Buttons, an' Nick, the Parson, 'll come walkin' up
to the beautiful gate, an' the captain what keeps it'll write their
names in a book an' say, 'Walk right in, ladies an' gentlemens, walk
right in. You'll find Captain Simon Beck an' Miss Glorietta
Beck'--'cause I'm goin' to put that long tail to my plain 'Glory' when I
go to live there, grandpa.

"Lemme see. Where was I?" the little girl went on. "Oh, yes. The Elbow
folks had just come, an' was showed in. They was told, 'Walk right in.
You'll find your friends settin' in the front parlor on them welwet
cushings readin' stories out o' books an' chewin' candy all day long.'
An' then they'll scurce know us, Billy an' them, an' not till I laugh
an' show my teeth an' you get up an' salute will they suspicion us. An'
you'll have on gold specs an' dress-uniform an' that'll make you look
just like you could see same's other folks. Why, grandpa, darlin', I've
just thought, just this very minute that ever was, maybe, to the
'Harbor' you won't be blind any more; for true, maybe not. In such a
splendid place, with doctors settin' round doin' nothin', an' hospitals
an' all, likely they'll put somethin' in your eyes will make you see
again. O grandpa---- If!"

The old man listened silently.

"An' when--when do you think would be the soonest we might go? 'Twon't
cost much to take me an' you an' Bo'sn on the boat to Staten Island. I
know the way. Onct I went clear down to the ferry where they start from
just a purpose to see, an' we could 'most any time. Will we go 'fore
next winter, grandpa? An' yet I hate, I do hate, to leave this dear
Lane. We live so lovely in our hull house an' the folks'd miss us so an'
we'd miss the folks. Anyway, I should. You wouldn't, course, havin' so
many other old sailors all around you. An'---- Why, here's that same man
again!"

Even in Elbow Lane, where the shadows lie all day long, other and darker
shadows may fall; and such a shade now touched Glory's shoulder as she
pictured in words the charm of that blessed asylum to which the captain
and she would one day repair. He had always fixed the time to be "when
he got too old and worthless to earn his living." But that morning she
had swiftly reasoned that since he had grown cross--a new thing in her
experience--he must also have suddenly become aged and that the day of
their departure might be near at h