“He won’t go,” said Sanford, with a sigh of relief now that he knew the break had been repaired without delay. “No cat-boat can live outside to-day.” “Well, all I know is, I heared him tell Lonny Bowles to ask Cap’n Potts for it ’fore they went out,” she replied, as she hung Sanford’s socks on a string especially reserved for such emergencies. “Said they had two big cut stone to set, an’ they couldn’t get a pound o’ steam on the Ledge till he brought the pump back.” Sanford instinctively looked out of the window. The rain beat against the panes. The boom of the surf sounded like distant cannon. “Ye can’t do nothin’ with him when he gits one o’ his spells on, noways,” continued Aunty Bell, as she raked out the coals. “Jes’ wait till I grind some fresh coffee,—won’t take a minute. Then I’ll git breakfast for ye.” Sanford stepped into the sitting-room, closed the door, took off his coat and waistcoat, loosened his collar, pulled on the sweater, and came back into the kitchen, looking like a substitute in a game of football. He always kept a stock of such dry luxuries in his little room upstairs, Aunty Bell looking after them as she did after the captain’s, and these rapid changes of dress were not unusual. “How does Betty get on?” asked Sanford, drawing up a chair to the table. The bustling little woman was bringing relays of bread, butter, and other comforts, flitting between the pantry and the stove. “Pretty peaked, sir; ye wouldn’t know her, poor little girl; it’d break yer heart to see her,” she answered, as she placed a freshly baked pie on the table. “She’s upstairs now. Cap’n wouldn’t let her git up an’ go to work this mornin’, it blowed so. That’s her now a-comin’ downstairs.” Sanford rose and held out his hand. He had not seen Betty since the memorable night when she had stood in his hallway, and he had taken her to Mrs. Leroy’s. He had been but seldom at the captain’s of late, going straight to the Ledge from the train, and had always missed her. Betty started back, and her color came and went when she saw who it was. She didn’t know anybody was downstairs, she said half apologetically, addressing her words to Aunty Bell, her eyes averted from Sanford’s face. “Why, Betty, I’m glad to see you!” exclaimed Sanford in a cheery tone, his mind going back to Mrs. Leroy’s admonition. Betty raised her eyes with a timid, furtive glance, her face flushed scarlet, but, reading Sanford’s entire sincerity in his face, she laid her hand in his, saying it was a bad day, and that she hoped he was not wet. Then she turned to help Mrs. Bell with the table. Sanford watched her slight figure and care-worn face as she moved about the room—hardly a trace in them of the Betty of old. When Aunty Bell had gone down into the cellar, he called Betty to him and said in a low voice, “I have a message for you.” She turned quickly, as if anticipating some unwelcome revelation. “Mrs. Leroy told me to give you her love.”