“Well, I looked it over, and almost the first thing I saw was that advertisement signed 'Skipper.' It didn't read like the other trashy things in there, and it sounded honest. And all of a sudden it come over me that I'd answer it. I was lonesome and tired and sort of didn't care, and I answered it right off without waitin' another minute. That's all there is to tell. When I come here to be housekeeper I wrote the folks that's takin' care of my furniture--they're reel kind people; I was goin' to board there if I had stayed in Nantucket--to keep it till I come back. There! I meant to tell you this long ago, and I don't know why I haven't.” The Captain knew why she hadn't. It was easy to read between the lines the tale of the years of disappointment and anxiety. Such stories are not easy to tell, and he respected the widow more than ever for the simple way in which she had told hers. “That Land Company bus'ness,” he said, “carried off a good lot of Cape Cod money. I never saw but one man that I thought was glad it busted, and that was old Caleb Weeks, over to Harniss. The old man was rich, but closer 'n the bark of a tree--he'd skin a flea for the hide and taller--and used to be a hard case into the bargain. One time they had a big revival over there and he got religion. The boys used to say what caught Caleb was the minister's sayin' salvation was free. Well, anyhow, he got converted and j'ined the church. That was all right, only while the fit was fresh he pledged himself to give five hundred dollars to help build the new chapel. When he cooled down a little he was sorry, and every time they'd hint at his comin' down with the cash, he'd back and fill, and put it off for a spell. When the Land Company went up he was the only happy one in town, 'cause he said he'd lost all his money. Course, under the circumstances, they couldn't ask him to pay, so he didn't. From what I hear he lost as much as fifty dollars.” They both laughed, and Mrs. Snow was about to answer when she was interrupted. “Eri,” said a weak voice. “Eri.” The Captain started, turned sharply, and saw the sick man watching him, his eyes fixed and unwavering. “Eri,” said John Baxter again, “come here.” Mrs. Snow hurried to her patient, but the latter impatiently bade her let him alone. “Not you,” he said, “I want Eri.” Captain Eri stooped down beside the bed. “What is it, John?” he asked. “Eri s'pose God called you to break man's law and keep his, what would you do?” The Captain glanced anxiously at the house-keeper. Then he said soothingly: “Oh, that's all right, John. Don't worry 'bout that. You and me settled that long ago. How are you feelin' now?” “I know, I know,” with the monotonous persistence of those whose minds are wandering,--and then cleanly once more, “Eri, I've been called.”