"There _she_ goes," thought the disgruntled ex-steward. "Hintin' I'm made of money like these other folks." And he continued to stare after Perry Baker's wagon as though deeply interested in the crated talking machine. "I do want your advice, about the tree, 'Liphalet," said Miss Sue desperately. It seemed as though she wished to recall his attention from that talking machine and where it was going. "You know, Amos Durgin usually has good trees; but he's shipped all his best ones to Boston----" "Ho!" ejaculated the ex-steward. "I ain't takin' no int'rest in the Christmas tree this year, Susan. I'm a-takin' a back seat, like I tell 'em all. Let somebody else have a spell at sech didoes. It's my watch below." "Oh! Yes! Certainly, 'Liphalet, if you feel that way about it," the gentle spinster said. The memory of this meeting rasped 'Liphalet's mind more and more as the hours passed. She had spoken as though she were hurt by his gruff refusal, and he cringed in secret at thought of ruffling her gentle soul in any way. But even Miss Sue, he determined, should cozen him into no further effort in behalf of the Christmas celebration. He knew very well what they all expected--what they were looking for. Why, the children on the road who now tipped their hats or courtesied to him so politely, were the same little imps who had robbed his berry patch in June and whom he had chased out of his "summer sweet'nin' tree" in August. "Drat 'em!" grumbled 'Liphalet. "They're playin' a game, all on 'em. Just salvin' me over--tryin' to git all they can out o' me! And Sue Ambrose is purty near as bad as the rest," he added, with actual venom. The taut little ex-steward had become a wofully changed man. It was nothing sudden that had seized upon his mind and made it sick. More than Doctor Ambrose had noticed his metamorphosis. The Black Dog rode 'Liphalet hard--had done so for many weeks. At first when he had begun himself to notice the change that was coming over his mind, 'Liphalet had called it "the megrums." He did not feel as brisk bodily as usual. Jalap and salts--the sailor's never-failing remedy for all ills to which human flesh is heir--were unshaken doctrinal tenets in 'Liphalet Truitt's belief, and he declared that he did not propose to have "no doctor messin' with his innards." So he scouted the attempt of Doctor Ambrose to advise as to his treatment. In his heart, too, he knew that the trouble was more mental than physical. The seed of his discontent had been sown long before. He had not realized it; but the years of denial since his retirement from the sea were harder to bear than he had thought. During the active span of his life ordinary troubles had little fretted Eliphalet Truitt, for he was always looking forward to the consummation of his hope regarding Sue Ambrose.