It was not so easy to go to Mrs. Trimmer's house and put the business
before her.  "It ought to be plain sailin' enough," Captain Eli said to
himself, over and over again, "but, fer all that, it don't seem to be
plain sailin'."

But he was not a man to be deterred by difficult navigation, and he
walked straight to Eliza Trimmer's house.

Mrs. Trimmer was a comely woman about thirty-five, who had come to the
village a year before, and had maintained herself, or at least had
tried to, by dressmaking and plain sewing.  She had lived at Stetford,
a seaport about twenty miles away, and from there, three years before,
her husband, Captain Trimmer, had sailed away in a good-sized schooner,
and had never returned.  She had come to Sponkannis because she thought
that there she could live cheaper and get more work than in her former
home.  She had found the first quite possible, but her success in
regard to the work had not been very great.

When Captain Eli entered Mrs. Trimmer's little room, he found her busy
mending a sail.  Here fortune favored him.  "You turn your hand to
'most anything, Mrs. Trimmer," said he, after he had greeted her.

"Oh, yes," she answered, with a smile, "I am obliged to do that.
Mending sails is pretty heavy work, but it's better than nothing."

"I had a notion," said he, "that you was ready to turn your hand to any
good kind of business, so I thought I would step in and ask you if
you'd turn your hand to a little bit of business I've got on the
stocks."

She stopped sewing on the sail, and listened while Captain Eli laid his
plan before her.  "It's very kind in you and Captain Cephas to think of
all that," said she.  "I have often noticed that poor little girl, and
pitied her.  Certainly I'll come, and you needn't say anything about
paying me for it.  I wouldn't think of asking to be paid for doing a
thing like that.  And besides,"--she smiled again as she spoke,--"if
you are going to give me a Christmas dinner, as you say, that will make
things more than square."

Captain Eli did not exactly agree with her, but he was in very good
humor, and she was in good humor, and the matter was soon settled, and
Mrs. Trimmer promised to come to the captain's house in the morning and
help about the Christmas tree, and in the afternoon to go to get the
little girl from Mrs. Crumley's and bring her to the house.

Captain Eli was delighted with the arrangements.  "Things now seem to
be goin' along before a spankin' breeze," said he.  "But I don't know
about the dinner.  I guess you will have to leave that to me.  I don't
believe Captain Cephas could eat a woman-cooked dinner.  He's
accustomed to livin sailor fashion, you know, and he has declared over
and over again to me that woman-cookin' doesn't agree with him."

"But I can cook sailor fashion," said Mrs. Trimmer,--"just as much
sailor fashion as you or Captain Cephas, and if he don't believe it,
I'll prove it to him; so you needn't worry about that."

When the captain had gone, Mrs. Trimmer gayly put away the sail.  There
was no need to finish it in a hurry, and no knowing when she would get
her money for it when it was done.  No one had asked her to a Christmas
dinner that year, and she had expected to have a lonely time of it.
But it would be very pleasant to spend Christmas with the little girl
and the two good captains.  Instead of sewing any more on the sail, she
got out some of her own clothes to see if they needed anything done to
them.

The next morning Mrs. Trimmer went to Captain Eli's house, and finding
Captain Cephas there, they all set to work at the Christmas tree, which
was a very fine one, and had been planted in a box.  Captain Cephas had
brought over a bundle of things from his house, and Captain Eli kept
running here and there, bringing, each time that he returned, some new
object, wonderful or pretty, which he had brought from China or Japan
or Corea, or some spicy island of the Eastern seas; and nearly every
time he came with these treasures Mrs. Trimmer declared that such
things were too good to put upon a Christmas tree, even for such a nice
little girl as the one for which that tree was intended.  The presents
which Captain Cephas brought were much more suitable for the purpose;
they were odd and funny, and some of them pretty, but not expensive, as
were the fans and bits of shellwork and carved ivories which Captain
Eli wished to tie upon the twigs of the tree.

There was a good deal of talk about all this, but Captain Eli had his
own way.

"I don't suppose, after all," said he, "that the little gal ought to
have all the things.  This is such a big tree that it's more like a
family tree.  Cap'n Cephas can take some of my things, and I can take
some of his things, and, Mrs. Trimmer, if there's anything you like,
you can call it your present and take it for your own, so that will be
fair and comfortable all round.  What I want is to make everybody
satisfied."

"I'm sure I think they ought to be," said Mrs. Trimmer, looking very
kindly at Captain Eli.

Mrs. Trimmer went home to her own house to dinner, and in the afternoon
she brought the little girl.  She had said there ought to be an early
supper, so that the child would have time to enjoy the Christmas tree
before she became sleepy.

This meal was prepared entirely by Captain Eli, and in sailor fashion,
not woman fashion, so that Captain Cephas could make no excuse for
eating his supper at home.  Of course they all ought to be together the
whole of that Christmas eve.  As for the big dinner on the morrow, that
was another affair, for Mrs. Trimmer undertook to make Captain Cephas
understand that she had always cooked for Captain Trimmer in sailor
fashion, and if he objected to her plum-duff, or if anybody else
objected to her mince-pie, she was going to be very much surprised.

Captain Cephas ate his supper with a good relish, and was still eating
when the rest had finished.  As to the Christmas tree, it was the most
valuable, if not the most beautiful, that had ever been set up in that
region.  It had no candles upon it, but was lighted by three lamps and
a ship's lantern placed in the four corners of the room, and the little
girl was as happy as if the tree were decorated with little dolls and
glass balls.  Mrs. Trimmer was intensely pleased and interested to see
the child so happy, and Captain Eli was much pleased and interested to
see the child and Mrs. Trimmer so happy, and Captain Cephas was
interested, and perhaps a little amused in a superior fashion, to see
Captain Eli and Mrs. Trimmer and the little child so happy.

Then the distribution of the presents began.  Captain Eli asked Captain
Cephas if he might have the wooden pipe that the latter had brought for
his present.  Captain Cephas said he might take it, for all he cared,
and be welcome to it.  Then Captain Eli gave Captain Cephas a red
bandanna handkerchief of a very curious pattern, and Captain Cephas
thanked him kindly.  After which Captain Eli bestowed upon Mrs. Trimmer
a most beautiful tortoise-shell comb, carved and cut and polished in a
wonderful way, and with it he gave a tortoise-shell fan, carved in the
same fashion, because he said the two things seemed to belong to each
other and ought to go together; and he would not listen to one word of
what Mrs. Trimmer said about the gifts being too good for her, and that
she was not likely ever to use them.

"It seems to me," said Captain Cephas, "that you might be giving
something to the little gal."

Then Captain Eli remembered that the child ought not to be forgotten,
and her soul was lifted into ecstasy by many gifts, some of which Mrs.
Trimmer declared were too good for any child in this wide, wide world.
But Captain Eli answered that they could be taken care of by somebody
until the little girl was old enough to know their value.

Then it was discovered that, unbeknown to anybody else, Mrs. Trimmer
had put some presents on the tree, which were things which had been
brought by Captain Trimmer from somewhere in the far East or the
distant West.  These she bestowed upon Captain Cephas and Captain Eli.
And the end of all this was that in the whole of Sponkannis, from the
foot of the bluff to the east, to the very last house on the shore to
the west, there was not one Christmas eve party so happy as this one.

Captain Cephas was not quite so happy as the three others were, but he
was very much interested.  About nine o'clock the party broke up, and
the two captains put on their caps and buttoned up their pea-jackets,
and started for Captain Cephas's house, but not before Captain Eli had
carefully fastened every window and every door except the front door,
and had told Mrs. Trimmer how to fasten that when they had gone, and
had given her a boatswain's whistle, which she might blow out of the
window if there should be a sudden croup and it should be necessary for
any one to go anywhere.  He was sure he could hear it, for the wind was
exactly right for him to hear a whistle from his house.  When they had
gone Mrs. Trimmer put the little girl to bed, and was delighted to find
in what a wonderfully neat and womanlike fashion that house was kept.

It was nearly twelve o'clock that night when Captain Eli, sleeping in
his bunk opposite that of Captain Cephas, was aroused by hearing a
sound.  He had been lying with his best ear uppermost, so that he
should hear anything if there happened to be anything to hear.  He did
hear something, but it was not a boatswain's whistle; it was a
prolonged cry, and it seemed to come from the sea.

In a moment Captain Eli was sitting on the side of his bunk, listening
intently.  Again came the cry.  The window toward the sea was slightly
open, and he heard it plainly.

"Cap'n!" said he, and at the word Captain Cephas was sitting on the
side of his bunk, listening.  He knew from his companion's attitude,
plainly visible in the light of a lantern which hung on a hook at the
other end of the room, that he had been awakened to listen.  Again came
the cry.

"That's distress at sea," said Captain Cephas.  "Harken!"

They listened again for nearly a minute, when the cry was repeated.

"Bounce on deck, boys!" said Captain Cephas, getting out on the floor.
"There's some one in distress off shore."

Captain Eli jumped to the floor, and began to dress quickly.

"It couldn't be a call from land?" he asked hurriedly.  "It don't sound
a bit to you like a boatswain's whistle, does it?"

"No," said Captain Cephas, disdainfully.  "It's a call from sea." Then,
seizing a lantern, he rushed down the companionway.

As soon as he was convinced that it was a call from sea, Captain Eli
was one in feeling and action with Captain Cephas.  The latter hastily
opened the draughts of the kitchen stove, and put on some wood, and by
the time this was done Captain Eli had the kettle filled and on the
stove.  Then they clapped on their caps and their pea-jackets, each
took an oar from a corner in the back hall, and together they ran down
to the beach.

The night was dark, but not very cold, and Captain Cephas had been to
the store that morning in his boat.

Whenever he went to the store, and the weather permitted, he rowed
there in his boat rather than walk.  At the bow of the boat, which was
now drawn up on the sand, the two men stood and listened.  Again came
the cry from the sea.

"It's something ashore on the Turtle-back Shoal," said Captain Cephas.

"Yes," said Captain Eli, "and it's some small craft, fer that cry is
down pretty nigh to the water."

"Yes," said Captain Cephas.  "And there's only one man aboard, or else
they'd take turns a-hollerin'."

"He's a stranger," said Captain Eli, "or he wouldn't have tried, even
with a cat-boat, to get in over that shoal on ebb-tide."

As they spoke they ran the boat out into the water and jumped in, each
with an oar.  Then they pulled for the Turtle-back Shoal.

Although these two captains were men of fifty or thereabout, they were
as strong and tough as any young fellows in the village, and they
pulled with steady strokes, and sent the heavy boat skimming over the
water, not in a straight line toward the Turtle-back Shoal, but now a
few points in the darkness this way, and now a few points in the
darkness that way, then with a great curve to the south through the
dark night, keeping always near the middle of the only good channel out
of the bay when the tide was ebbing.

Now the cries from seaward had ceased, but the two captains were not
discouraged.

"He's heard the thumpin' of our oars," said Captain Cephas.

"He's listenin', and he'll sing out again if he thinks we're goin'
wrong," said Captain Eli.  "Of course he doesn't know anything about
that."

And so when they made the sweep to the south the cry came again, and
Captain Eli grinned.  "We needn't to spend no breath hollerin'," said
he.  "He'll hear us makin' fer him in a minute."

When they came to head for the shoal they lay on their oars for a
moment, while Captain Cephas turned the lantern in the bow, so that its
light shone out ahead.  He had not wanted the shipwrecked person to see
the light when it would seem as if the boat were rowing away from him.
He had heard of castaway people who became so wild when they imagined
that a ship or boat was going away from them that they jumped overboard.

When the two captains reached the shoal, they found there a cat-boat
aground, with one man aboard.  His tale was quickly told.  He had
expected to run into the little bay that afternoon, but the wind had
fallen, and in trying to get in after dark, and being a stranger, he
had run aground.  If he had not been so cold, he said, he would have
been willing to stay there till the tide rose; but he was getting
chilled, and seeing a light not far away, he concluded to call for help
as long as his voice held out.

The two captains did not ask many questions.  They helped anchor the
cat-boat, and then they took the man on their boat and rowed him to
shore.  He was getting chilled sitting out there doing nothing, and so
when they reached the house they made him some hot grog, and promised
in the morning, when the tide rose, they would go out and help him
bring his boat in.  Then Captain Cephas showed the stranger to a bunk,
and they all went to bed.  Such experiences had not enough of novelty
to the good captains to keep them awake five minutes.

In the morning they were all up very early, and the stranger, who
proved to be a seafaring man with bright blue eyes, said that, as his
cat-boat seemed to be riding all right at its anchorage, he did not
care to go out after her just yet.  Any time during flood-tide would do
for him, and he had some business that he wanted to attend to as soon
as possible.

This suited the two captains very well, for they wished to be on hand
when the little girl discovered her stocking.

"Can you tell me," said the stranger, as he put on his cap, "where I
can find a Mrs. Trimmer, who lives in this village?"

At these words all the sturdy stiffness which, from his youth up, had
characterized the legs of Captain Eli entirely went out of them, and he
sat suddenly upon a bench.  For a few moments there was silence.

Then Captain Cephas, who thought some answer should be made to the
question, nodded his head.

"I want to see her as soon as I can," said the stranger.  "I have come
to see her on particular business that will be a surprise to her.  I
wanted to be here before Christmas began, and that's the reason I took
that cat-boat from Stetford, because I thought I'd come quicker that
way than by land.  But the wind fell, as I told you.  If either one of
you would be good enough to pilot me to where Mrs. Trimmer lives, or to
any point where I can get a sight of the place, I'd be obliged."

Captain Eli rose and with hurried but unsteady steps went into the
house (for they had been upon the little piazza), and beckoned to his
friend to follow.  The two men stood in the kitchen and looked at each
other.  The face of Captain Eli was of the hue of a clam-shell.

"Go with him, cap'n," he said in a hoarse whisper.  "I can't do it."

"To your house?" inquired the other.

"Of course.  Take him to my house.  There ain't no other place where
she is.  Take him along."

Captain Cephas's countenance wore an air of the deepest concern, but he
thought that the best thing to do was to get the stranger away.

 As they walked rapidly toward Captain Eli's house there was
very little said by either Captain Cephas or the stranger.  The latter
seemed anxious to give Mrs. Trimmer a surprise, and not to say anything
which might enable another person to interfere with his project.

The two men had scarcely stepped upon the piazza when Mrs. Trimmer, who
had been expecting early visitors, opened the door.  She was about to
call out "Merry Christmas!" but, her eyes falling upon a stranger, the
words stopped at her lips.  First she turned red, then she turned pale,
and Captain Cephas thought she was about to fall.  But before she could
do this the stranger had her in his arms.  She opened her eyes, which
for a moment she had closed, and, gazing into his face, she put her
arms around his neck.  Then Captain Cephas came away, without thinking
of the little girl and the pleasure she would have in discovering her
Christmas stocking.

When he had been left alone, Captain Eli sat down near the kitchen
stove, close to the very kettle which he had filled with water to heat
for the benefit of the man he had helped bring in from the sea, and,
with his elbows on his knees and his fingers in his hair, he darkly
pondered.

"If I'd only slept with my hard-o'-hearin' ear up," he said to himself,
"I'd never have heard it."

In a few moments his better nature condemned this thought.

"That's next to murder," he muttered, "fer he couldn't have kept
himself from fallin' asleep out there in the cold, and when the tide
riz held have been blowed out to sea with this wind.  If I hadn't heard
him, Captain Cephas never would, fer he wasn't primed up to wake, as I
was."

But, notwithstanding his better nature, Captain Eli was again saying to
himself, when his friend returned, "If I'd only slept with my other ear
up!"

Like the honest, straightforward mariner he was, Captain Cephas made an
exact report of the facts.  "They was huggin' when I left them," he
said, "and I expect they went indoors pretty soon, fer it was too cold
outside.  It's an all-fired shame she happened to be in your house,
cap'n, that's all I've got to say about it. It's a thunderin' shame."

Captain Eli made no answer.  He still sat with his elbows on his knees
and his hands in his hair.

"A better course than you laid down fer these Christmas times was never
dotted on a chart," continued Captain Cephas.  "From port of sailin' to
port of entry you laid it down clear and fine.  But it seems there was
rocks that wasn't marked on the chart."

"Yes," groaned Captain Eli, "there was rocks."

Captain Cephas made no attempt to comfort his friend, but went to work
to get breakfast.

When that meal--a rather silent one--was over, Captain Eli felt better.
"There was rocks," he said, "and not a breaker to show where they lay,
and I struck 'em bow on.  So that's the end of that voyage.  But I've
tuk to my boats, cap'n, I've tuk to my boats."

"I'm glad to hear you've tuk to your boats," said Captain Cephas, with
an approving glance upon his friend.

About ten minutes afterwards Captain Eli said, "I'm goin' up to my
house."

"By yourself?" said the other.

"Yes, by myself.  I'd rather go alone.  I don't intend to mind
anything, and I'm goin' to tell her that she can stay there and spend
Christmas,--the place she lives in ain't no place to spend
Christmas,--and she can make the little gal have a good time, and go
'long just as we intended to go 'long--plum-duff and mince-pie all the
same.  I can stay here, and you and me can have our Christmas dinner
together, if we choose to give it that name.  And if she ain't ready to
go to-morrow, she can stay a day or two longer.  It's all the same to
me, if it's the same to you, cap'n."

Captain Cephas having said that it was the same to him, Captain Eli put
on his cap and buttoned up his pea-jacket, declaring that the sooner he
got to his house the better, as she might be thinking that she would
have to move out of it now that things were different.

Before Captain Eli reached his house he saw something which pleased
him.  He saw the sea-going stranger, with his back toward him, walking
rapidly in the direction of the village store.

Captain Eli quickly entered his house, and in the doorway of the room
where the tree was he met Mrs. Trimmer, beaming brighter than any
morning sun that ever rose.

"Merry Christmas!" she exclaimed, holding out both her hands.  "I've
been wondering and wondering when you'd come to bid me `Merry
Christmas'--the merriest Christmas I've ever had."

Captain Eli took her hands and bid her "Merry Christmas" very gravely.

She looked a little surprised.  "What's the matter, Captain Eli?" she
exclaimed.  "You don't seem to say that as if you meant it."

"Oh, yes, I do," he answered.  "This must be an all-fired--I mean a
thunderin' happy Christmas fer you, Mrs. Trimmer."

"Yes," said she, her face beaming again.  "And to think that it should
happen on Christmas day--that this blessed morning, before anything
else happened, my Bob, my only brother, should--"

"Your what!" roared Captain Eli, as if he had been shouting orders in a
raging storm.

Mrs. Trimmer stepped back almost frightened.  "My brother," said she.
"Didn't he tell you he was my brother--my brother Bob, who sailed away
a year before I was married, and who has been in Africa and China and I
don't know where?  It's so long since I heard that he'd gone into
trading at Singapore that I'd given him up as married and settled in
foreign parts.  And here he has come to me as if he'd tumbled from the
sky on this blessed Christmas morning."

Captain Eli made a step forward, his face very much flushed.

"Your brother, Mrs. Trimmer--did you really say it was your brother?"

"Of course it is," said she.  "Who else could it be?"  Then she paused
for a moment and looked steadfastly at the captain.

"You don't mean to say, Captain Eli," she asked, "that you thought it
was--"

"Yes, I did," said Captain Eli, promptly.

Mrs. Trimmer looked straight in the captain's eyes, then she looked on
the ground.  Then she changed color and changed back again.

"I don't understand," she said hesitatingly, "why--I mean what
difference it made."

"Difference!" exclaimed Captain Eli.  "It was all the difference
between a man on deck and a man overboard--that's the difference it was
to me.  I didn't expect to be talkin' to you so early this Christmas
mornin', but things has been sprung on me, and I can't help it I just
want to ask you one thing:  Did you think I was gettin' up this
Christmas tree and the Christmas dinner and the whole business fer the
good of the little gal, and fer the good of you, and fer the good of
Captain Cephas?"

Mrs. Trimmer had now recovered a very fair possession of herself.  "Of
course I did," she answered, looking up at him as she spoke.  "Who else
could it have been for!"

"Well," said he, "you were mistaken.  It wasn't fer any one of you.  It
was all fer me--fer my own self."

"You yourself?" said she.  "I don't see how."

"But I see how," he answered.  "It's been a long time since I wanted to
speak my mind to you, Mrs. Trimmer, but I didn't ever have no chance.
And all these Christmas doin's was got up to give me the chance not
only of speakin' to you, but of showin' my colors better than I could
show them in any other way.  Everything went on a-skimmin' till this
mornin', when that stranger that we brought in from the shoal piped up
and asked fer you.  Then I went overboard--at least, I thought I
did--and sunk down, down, clean out of soundin's."

"That was too bad, captain," said she, speaking very gently, "after all
your trouble and kindness."

"But I don't know now," he continued, "whether I went overboard or
whether I am on deck.  Can you tell me, Mrs. Trimmer?"

She looked up at him.  Her eyes were very soft, and her lips trembled
just a little.  "It seems to me, captain," she said, "that you are on
deck--if you want to be."

The captain stepped closer to her.  "Mrs. Trimmer," said he, "is that
brother of yours comin' back?"

"Yes," she answered, surprised at the sudden question.  "He's just gone
up to the store to buy a shirt and some things.  He got himself
splashed trying to push his boat off last night."

"Well, then," said Captain Eli, "would you mind tellin' him when he
comes back that you and me's engaged to be married?  I don't know
whether I've made a mistake in the lights or not, but would you mind
tellin' him that?"

Mrs. Trimmer looked at him.  Her eyes were not so soft as they had
been, but they were brighter.  "I'd rather you'd tell him that
yourself," said she.

The little girl sat on the floor near the Christmas tree, just
finishing a large piece of red-and-white candy which she had taken out
of her stocking.  "People do hug a lot at Christmas-time," said she to
herself.  Then she drew out a piece of blue-and-white candy and began
on that.

Captain Cephas waited a long time for his friend to return, and at last
he thought it would be well to go and look for him.  When he entered
the house he found Mrs. Trimmer sitting on the sofa in the parlor, with
Captain Eli on one side of her and her brother on the other, and each
of them holding one of her hands.

"It looks as if I was in port, don't it?" said Captain Eli to his
astonished friend.  "Well, here I am, and here's my fust mate,"
inclining his head toward Mrs. Trimmer.  "And she's in port too, safe
and sound.  And that strange captain on the other side of her, he's her
brother Bob, who's been away for years and years, and is just home from
Madagascar."

"Singapore," amended Brother Bob.

Captain Cephas looked from one to the other of the three occupants of
the sofa, but made no immediate remark.  Presently a smile of genial
maliciousness stole over his face, and he asked, "How about the poor
little gal?  Have you sent her back to Mrs. Crumley's?"

The little girl came out from behind the Christmas tree, her stocking,
now but half filled, in her hand.  "Here I am," she said.  "Don't you
want to give me a Christmas hug, Captain Cephas?  You and me's the only
ones that hasn't had any."

The Christmas dinner was as truly and perfectly a sailor-cooked meal as
ever was served on board a ship or off it.  Captain Cephas had said
that, and when he had so spoken there was no need of further words.

It was nearly dark that afternoon, and they were all sitting around the
kitchen fire, the three seafaring men smoking, and Mrs. Trimmer greatly
enjoying it.  There could be no objection to the smell of tobacco in
this house so long as its future mistress enjoyed it.  The little girl
sat on the floor nursing a Chinese idol which had been one of her
presents.

"After all," said Captain Eli, meditatively, "this whole business come
out of my sleepin' with my best ear up.  Fer if I'd slept with my
hard-o'-hearin' ear up--"  Mrs. Trimmer put one finger on his lips.
"All right," said Captain Eli, "I won't say no more.  But it would have
been different."

Even now, several years after that Christmas, when there is no Mrs.
Trimmer, and the little girl, who has been regularly adopted by Captain
Eli and his wife, is studying geography, and knows more about latitude
and longitude than her teacher at school, Captain Eli has still a
slight superstitious dread of sleeping with his best ear uppermost.

"Of course it's the most all-fired nonsense," he says to himself over
and over again.  Nevertheless, he feels safer when it is his
"hard-o'-hearin' ear" that is not upon the pillow.




LOVE BEFORE BREAKFAST

I was still a young man when I came into the possession of an excellent
estate.  This consisted of a large country house, surrounded by lawns,
groves, and gardens, and situated not far from the flourishing little
town of Boynton.  Being an orphan with no brothers or sisters, I set up
here a bachelor's hall, in which, for two years, I lived with great
satisfaction and comfort, improving my grounds and furnishing my house.
When I had made all the improvements which were really needed, and
feeling that I now had a most delightful home to come back to, I
thought it would be an excellent thing to take a trip to Europe, give
my mind a run in fresh fields, and pick up a lot of bric-a-brac and
ideas for the adornment and advantage of my house and mind.

It was the custom of the residents in my neighborhood who owned houses
and travelled in the summer to let their houses during their absence,
and my business agent and myself agreed that this would be an excellent
thing for me to do.  If the house were let to a suitable family it
would yield me a considerable income, and the place would not present
on my return that air of retrogression and desolation which I might
expect if it were left unoccupied and in charge of a caretaker.

My agent assured me that I would have no trouble whatever in letting my
place, for it offered many advantages and I expected but a reasonable
rent.  I desired to leave everything just as it stood, house,
furniture, books, horses, cows, and poultry, taking with me only my
clothes and personal requisites, and I desired tenants who would come
in bringing only their clothes and personal requisites, which they
could quietly take away with them when their lease should expire and I
should return home.

In spite, however, of the assurances of the agent, it was not easy to
let my place.  The house was too large for some people, too small for
others, and while some applicants had more horses than I had stalls in
my stable, others did not want even the horses I would leave.  I had
engaged my steamer passage, and the day for my departure drew near, and
yet no suitable tenants had presented themselves.  I had almost come to
the conclusion that the whole matter would have to be left in the hands
of my agent, for I had no intention whatever of giving up my projected
travels, when early one afternoon some people came to look at the
house.  Fortunately I was at home, and I gave myself the pleasure of
personally conducting them about the premises.  It was a pleasure,
because as soon as I comprehended the fact that these applicants
desired to rent my house I wished them to have it.

The family consisted of an elderly gentleman and his wife, with a
daughter of twenty or thereabout.  This was a family that suited me
exactly.  Three in number, no children, people of intelligence and
position, fond of the country, and anxious for just such a place as I
offered them--what could be better?

The more I walked about and talked with these good people and showed
them my possessions, the more I desired that the young lady should take
my house.  Of course her parents were included in this wish, but it was
for her ears that all my remarks were intended, although sometimes
addressed to the others, and she was the tenant I labored to obtain.  I
say "labored" advisedly, because I racked my brain to think of
inducements which might bring them to a speedy and favorable decision.

Apart from the obvious advantages of the arrangement, it would be a
positive delight to me during my summer wanderings in Europe to think
that that beautiful girl would be strolling through my grounds,
enjoying my flowers, and sitting with her book in the shady nooks I had
made so pleasant, lying in my hammocks, spending her evening hours in
my study, reading my books, writing at my desk, and perhaps musing in
my easy-chair.  Before these applicants appeared it had sometimes
pained me to imagine strangers in my home; but no such thought crossed
my mind in regard to this young lady, who, if charming in the house and
on the lawn, grew positively entrancing when she saw my Jersey cows and
my two horses, regarding them with an admiration which even surpassed
my own.

Long before we had completed the tour of inspection I had made up my
mind that this young lady should come to live in my house.  If
obstacles should show themselves they should be removed.  I would tear
down, I would build, I would paper and paint, I would put in all sorts
of electric bells, I would reduce the rent until it suited their
notions exactly, I would have my horses' tails banged if she liked that
kind of tails better than long ones--I would do anything to make them
definitely decide to take the place before they left me.  I trembled to
think of her going elsewhere and giving other householders a chance to
tempt her.  She had looked at a good many country houses, but it was
quite plain that none of them had pleased her so well as mine.

I left them in my library to talk the matter over by themselves, and in
less than ten minutes the young lady herself came out on the lawn to
tell me that her father and mother had decided to take the place and
would like to speak with me.

"I am so glad," she said as we went in.  "I am sure I shall enjoy every
hour of our stay here.  It is so different from anything we have yet
seen."

When everything had been settled I wanted to take them again over the
place and point out a lot of things I had omitted.  I particularly
wanted to show them some lovely walks in the woods.  But there was no
time, for they had to catch a train.

Her name was Vincent--Cora Vincent, as I discovered from her mother's
remarks.

As soon as they departed I had my mare saddled and rode into town to
see my agent.  I went into his office exultant.

"I've let my house," I said, "and I want you to make out the lease and
have everything fixed and settled as soon as possible.  This is the
address of my tenants."

The agent asked me a good many questions, being particularly anxious to
know what rent had been agreed upon.

"Heavens!" he exclaimed, when I mentioned the sum, "that is ever so
much less than I told you you could get.  I am in communication now
with a party whom I know would pay you considerably more than these
people.  Have you definitely settled with them?  Perhaps it is not too
late to withdraw."

"Withdraw!" I cried.  "Never!  They are the only tenants I want.  I was
determined to get them, and I think I must have lowered the rent four
or five times in the course of the afternoon.  I took a big slice out
of it before I mentioned the sum at all.  You see," said I, very
impressively, "these Vincents exactly suit me."  And then I went on to
state fully the advantages of the arrangement, omitting, however, any
references to my visions of Miss Vincent swinging in my hammocks or
musing in my study-chair.

It was now May 15, and my steamer would sail on the twenty-first.  The
intervening days I employed, not in preparing for my travels, but in
making every possible arrangement for the comfort and convenience of my
incoming tenants.  The Vincents did not wish to take possession until
June 1, and I was sorry they had not applied before I had engaged my
passage, for in that case I would have selected a later date.  A very
good steamer sailed on June 3, and it would have suited me just as well.

Happening to be in New York one day, I went to the Vincents' city
residence to consult with them in regard to some awnings which I
proposed putting up at the back of the house.  I found no one at home
but the old gentleman, and it made no difference to him whether the
awnings were black and brown or red and yellow.  I cordially invited
him to come out before I left, and bring his family, that they might
look about the place to see if there was anything they would like to
have done which had not already been attended to.  It was so much
better, I told him, to talk over these matters personally with the
owner than with an agent in his absence.  Agents were often very
unwilling to make changes.  Mr. Vincent was a very quiet and
exceedingly pleasant elderly gentleman, and thanked me very much for my
invitation, but said he did not see how he could find the time to get
out to my house before I sailed.  I did not like to say that it was not
at all necessary for him to neglect his affairs in order to accompany
his family to my place, but I assured him that if any of them wished to
go out at any time before they took possession they must feel at
perfect liberty to do so.

I mentioned this matter to my agent, suggesting that if he happened to
be in New York he might call on the Vincents and repeat my invitation.
It was not likely that the old gentleman would remember to mention it
to his wife and daughter, and it was really important that everything
should be made satisfactory before I left.

"It seems to me," he said, smiling a little grimly, "that the Vincents
had better be kept away from your house until you have gone.  If you do
anything more to it you may find out that it would have been more
profitable to have shut it up while you are away."

He did call, however, partly because I wished him to and partly because
he was curious to see the people  I was so anxious to install in my
home, and to whom he was to be my legal representative.  He reported
the next day that he had found no one at home but Miss Vincent, and
that she had said that she and her mother would be very glad to come
out the next week and go over the place before they took possession.

"Next week!" I exclaimed.  "I shall be gone then!"

"But I shall be here," said Mr. Barker, "and I'll show them about and
take their suggestions."

This did not suit me at all.  It annoyed me very much to think of
Barker showing Miss Vincent about my place.  He was a good-looking
young man and not at all backward in his manners.

"After all," said I, "I suppose that everything that ought to be done
has been done.  I hope you told her that."

"Of course not," said he.  "That would have been running dead against
your orders.  Besides, it's my business to show people about places.  I
don't mind it."

This gave me an unpleasant and uneasy feeling.  I wondered if Mr.
Barker were the agent I ought to have, and if a middle-aged man with a
family and more experience might not be better able to manage my
affairs.

"Barker," said I, a little later, "there will be no use of your going
every month to the Vincents to collect their rent.  I shall write to
Mr. Vincent to pay as he pleases.  He can send a check monthly or at
the end of the season, as it may be convenient.  He is perfectly
responsible, and I would much prefer to have the money in a lump when I
come back."

Barker grinned.  "All right," said he, "but that's not the way to do
business, you know."

I may have been mistaken, but I fancied that I saw in my agent's face
an expression which indicated that he intended to call on the first day
of each month, on the pretext of telling Vincent that it was not
necessary to pay the rent at any particular time, and that he also
proposed to make many other intervening visits to inquire if repairs
were needed.  This might have been a good deal to get out of his
expression, but I think I could have got more if I had thought longer.

On the day before that on which I was to sail, my mind was in such a
disturbed condition that I could not attend to my packing or anything
else.  It almost enraged me to think that I was deliberately leaving
the country ten days before my tenants would come to my house.  There
was no reason why I should do this.  There were many reasons why I
should not.  There was Barker.  I was now of the opinion that he would
personally superintend the removal of the Vincents and their
establishment to my home.  I remembered that the only suggestion he had
made about the improvement of the place had been the construction of a
tennis-court.  I knew that he was a champion player.  Confound it!
What a dreadful mistake I had made in selecting such a man for my
house-agent.  With my mind's eye I could already see Miss Vincent and
Barker selecting a spot for tennis and planning the arrangements of the
court.

I took the first train to New York and went directly to the steamboat
office.  It is astonishing how many obstacles can be removed from a
man's path if he will make up his mind to give them a good kick.  I
found that my steamer was crowded.  The applications for passage
exceeded the accommodations, and the agent was delighted to transfer me
to the steamer that sailed on June 3.  I went home exultant.  Barker
drove over in the evening to take his last instructions, and a blank
look came over his face when I told him that business had delayed my
departure, and that I should not sail the next day.  If I had told him
that part of that business was the laying out of a tennis-court he
might have looked blanker.

Of course the date of my departure did not concern the Vincents,
provided the house was vacated by June 1, and I did not inform them of
the change in my plans, but when the mother and daughter came out the
next week they were much surprised to find me waiting to receive them
instead of Barker.  I hope that they were also pleased, and I am sure
that they had every reason to be so.  Mrs. Vincent, having discovered
that I was a most complacent landlord, accommodated herself easily to
my disposition and made a number of minor requirements, all of which I
granted without the slightest hesitation.  I was delighted at last to
put her into the charge of my housekeeper, and when the two had betaken
themselves to the bedrooms I invited Miss Vincent to come out with me
to select a spot for a tennis-court.  The invitation was accepted with
alacrity, for tennis, she declared, was a passion with her.

The selection of that tennis-court took nearly an hour, for there were
several good places for one and it was hard to make a selection;
besides, I could not lose the opportunity of taking Miss Vincent into
the woods and showing her the walks I had made and the rustic seats I
had placed in pleasant nooks.  Of course she would have discovered
these, but it was a great deal better for her to know all about them
before she came.  At last Mrs. Vincent sent a maid to tell her daughter
that it was time to go for the train, and the court had not been
definitely planned.

The next day I went to Miss Vincent's house with a plan of the grounds,
and she and I talked it over until the matter was settled.  It was
necessary to be prompt about this, I explained, as there would be a
great deal of levelling and rolling to be done.

I also had a talk with the old gentleman about books.  There were
several large boxes of my books in New York which I had never sent out
to my country house.  Many of these I thought might be interesting to
him, and I offered to have them taken out and left at his disposal.
When he heard the titles of some of the books in the collection he was
much interested, but insisted that before he made use of them they
should be catalogued, as were the rest of my effects.  I hesitated a
moment, wondering if I could induce Barker to come to New York and
catalogue four big boxes of books, when, to my surprise, Miss Vincent
incidentally remarked that if they were in any place where she could
get at them she would be pleased to help catalogue them; that sort of
thing was a great pleasure to her.  Instantly I proposed that I should
send the books to the Vincent house, that they should there be taken
out so that Mr. Vincent could select those he might care to read during
the summer, that I would make a list of these, and if Vincent would
assist me I would be grateful for the kindness, and those that were not
desired could be returned to the storehouse.

What a grand idea was this!  I had been internally groaning because I
could think of no possible pretence, for further interviews with Miss
Vincent, and here was something better than I could have imagined.  Her
father declared that he could not put me to so much trouble, but I
would listen to none of his words, and the next morning my books were
spread over his library floor.

The selection and cataloguing of the volumes desired occupied the
mornings of three days.  The old gentleman's part was soon done, but
there were many things in the books which were far more interesting to
me than their titles, and to which I desired to draw Miss Vincent's
attention.  All this greatly protracted our labors.  She was not only a
beautiful girl, but her intelligence and intellectual grasp were
wonderful.  I could not help telling her what a great pleasure it would
be to me to think, while wandering in foreign lands, that such an
appreciative family would be enjoying my books and my place.

"You are so fond of your house and everything you have," said she,
"that we shall almost feel as if we were depriving you of your rights.
But I suppose that Italian lakes and the Alps will make you forget for
a time even your beautiful home."

"Not if you are in it," I longed to say, but I restrained myself.  I
did not believe that it was possible for me to be more in love with
this girl than I was at that moment, but, of course, it would be the
rankest stupidity to tell her so.  To her I was simply her father's
landlord.

I went to that house the next day to see that the boxes were
properly repacked, and I actually went the next day to see if the right
boxes had gone into the country, and the others back to the storehouse.
The first day I saw only the father.  The second day it was the mother
who assured me that everything had been properly attended to.  I began
to feel that if I did not wish a decided rebuff I would better not make
any more pretences of business at the Vincent house.

There were affairs of my own which should have been attended to, and I
ought to have gone home and attended to them, but I could not bear to
do so.  There was no reason to suppose she would go out there before
the first of June.

Thinking over the matter many times, I came to the conclusion that if I
could see her once more I would be satisfied.  Then I would go away,
and carry her image with me into every art-gallery, over every glacier,
and under every lovely sky that I should enjoy abroad, hoping all the
time that, taking my place, as it were, in my home, and making my
possessions, in a measure, her own, she would indirectly become so well
acquainted with me that when I returned I might speak to her without
shocking her.

To obtain this final interview there was but one way.  I had left my
house on Saturday, the Vincents would come on the following Monday, and
I would sail on Wednesday.  I would go on Tuesday to inquire if they
found everything to their satisfaction.  This would be a very proper
attention from a landlord about to leave the country.

When I reached Boynton I determined to walk to my house, for I did not
wish to encumber myself with a hired vehicle.  I might be asked to stay
to luncheon.  A very strange feeling came over me as I entered my
grounds.  They were not mine.  For the time being they belonged to
somebody else.  I was merely a visitor or a trespasser if the Vincents
thought proper so to consider me.  If they did not like people to walk
on the grass I had no right to do it.

None of my servants had been left on the place, and the maid who came
to the door informed me that Mr. Vincent had gone to New York that
morning, and that Mrs. Vincent and her daughter were out driving.  I
ventured to ask if she thought they would soon return, and she answered
that she did not think they would, as they had gone to Rock Lake,
which, from the way they talked about it, must be a long way off.

Rock Lake!  When I had driven over there with my friends, we had taken
luncheon at the inn and returned in the afternoon.  And what did they
know of Rock Lake?  Who had told them of it?  That officious Barker, of
course.

"Will you leave a message, sir?" said the maid, who, of course, did not
know me.

"No," said I, and as I still stood gazing at the piazza floor, she
remarked that if I wished to call again she would go out and speak to
the coachman and ask him if anything had been said to him about the
time of the party's return.

Worse and worse!  Their coachman had not driven them!  Some one who
knew the country had been their companion.  They were not acquainted in
the neighborhood, and there could not be a shadow of a doubt that it
was that obtrusive Barker who had indecently thrust himself upon them
on the very next day after their arrival, and had thus snatched from me
this last interview upon which I had counted so earnestly.

I had no right to ask any more questions.  I left no message nor any
name, and I had no excuse for saying I would call again.

I got back to my hotel without having met any one whom I knew, and that
night I received a note from Barker, stating that he had fully intended
coming to the steamer to see me off, but that an engagement would
prevent him.  He sent, however, his best good wishes for my safe
passage, and assured me that he would keep me fully informed of the
state of my affairs on this side.

"Engagement!" I exclaimed.  "Is he going to drive with her again
to-morrow?"

My steamer sailed at two o'clock the next day, and after an early
breakfast I went to the company's office to see if I could dispose of
my ticket.  It had become impossible, I told the agent, for me to leave
America at present.  He said it was a very late hour to sell my ticket,
but that he would do what he could, and if an applicant turned up he
would give him my room and refund the money.  He wanted me to change to
another date, but I declined to do this.  I was not able to say when I
should sail.

I now had no plan of action.  All I knew was that I could not leave
America without finding out something definite about this Barker
business.  That is to say, if it should be made known to me that
instead of attending to my business, sending a carpenter to make
repairs, if such were necessary, or going personally to the plumber to
make sure that that erratic personage would give his attention to any
pipes in regard to which Mr. Vincent might have written, Barker should
mingle in sociable relations with my tenants, and drive or play tennis
with the young lady of the house, then would I immediately have done
with him.  I would withdraw my business from his hands and place it in
those of old Mr. Poindexter.  More than that, it might be my duty to
warn Miss Vincent's parents against Barker.  I did not doubt that he
was a very good house and land-agent, but in selecting him as such I
had no idea of introducing him to the Vincents in a social way.  In
fact, the more I thought about it the more I became convinced that if
ever I mentioned Barker to my tenants it would be to warn them against
him.  From certain points of view he was actually a dangerous man.