When the spring had come, Harwood, with a good crew of Plymouth men to help him, attempted to sail Garrett’s boat up to Boston, but caught in a wild spring storm was nearly wrecked again; and with some strange gloomy idea of having suffered from his association with Garrett he sued his estate for damages, and actually recovered twenty nobles, or about thirty-three dollars, which was duly paid to him out of the pittance left to Christian, who, although she went back to Boston and the care of an aunt, never ceased to be one of Betty’s dearest and most intimate friends. CHAPTER XXI. “AH, BROTHER OLDHAME, IS IT THOU!” It was a day in June, one of those lovely, nay, perfect days when heaven appears at once nearer and farther off than ever before: nearer, for we seem already to taste its delights; farther off, because earth has suddenly become so satisfying that we ask for nothing better. A little southwest breeze loitered over Burying Hill, stirring the long grasses, wooing sweet kisses and incense from the balm o’ Gilead trees, and finally floated down The Hill, past the closed and deserted homes of Standish and Alden to the governor’s house, grown wide and stately in these days, boasting two parlors besides the great common room, and furthermore a recent extension toward The Hill consisting of one wide low room with an outside door and a loft overhead. This was the governor’s study or office, where he kept his books and papers and transacted the colony’s business. More than this, in the large closet and in the loft overhead were stored the colony’s goods, both the peltrie for export, and the shoes, textile fabrics, and other matters which were brought back from England in exchange; and as every man or woman who had obtained a beaver, or mink, or otter skin brought it to the governor and asked him to send to England for a pair of shoes, a new doublet or kirtle, pewter platter, or horn comb, the adjusting these accounts, and remembering every one’s wishes and instructions, consumed so large a part of the gubernatorial time that one cannot wonder that now and again Bradford “by importunity gat off” from reëlection, especially as his services were altogether gratuitous, and must have interfered with the necessity of living, pressing not only upon every man individually, but on husbands and fathers very imperatively. The casement window of the study was swung open to the soft June air, and the little breeze, peeping in, shrank back dismayed, yet, mustering the courage of a petted child, gathered a handful of perfume from Alice Bradford’s bed of early pinks close at hand, flung it in at the open window, and then, laughing softly, flew round the corner and in at another casement, where Alice herself sat embroidering in green crewels the cover of a stool, and talking softly to her daughter Mercy, Desire Howland, and Betty Alden, who sat demure as kittens on three crickets, stitching fine seams or embroidering muslin