Instantly Hiram was beside her on the garden-seat, with Betsy in his arms, her thin cheek pressed against his broad chest, and sobs convulsing her slender body. He scowled, and smiled at the restless sea across his precious burden. Not a word he said, but his big hand patted her in gentle rhythm, and once he kissed her temple. At last she pushed herself from him, and sat up. “There’s one favor I’m goin’ to beg,” she said, with pauses, her handkerchief still at her eyes. “That is, that you won’t ask me why. I feel as if I couldn’t go over it.” “My Betsy,” replied the captain slowly, “there was only one question I ever wanted to ask o’ you. I did it a good many times, ’cause you didn’t give the right answer. Now you’ve done it, and I sha’n’t ask ye anything more.” “And Hiram,” she went on, struggling for self-control, “I have a feelin’ as if—as if I didn’t want it—to happen here.” “What?” asked the captain, doubtfully, “breakfast?” “No—no—the—I feel as if I didn’t want any minister in Fairport.” “I see.” He nodded. “Leave it to me, Betsy. Leave everything to me. I know I’m a blunderer lots o’ times; but I’ll attend to this _right_. I love ye.” He drew her down again on his comfortable shoulder. “Will ye come in?” he asked, after a minute. “No. I’ll stay out here, Hiram.” “All right.” He kissed her forehead. “To think ye’ll stay!” he said softly. “That’s the wonderful part of it. To think ye’ll stay!” He went into the house and brought a calico cushion with him from somewhere, putting it behind her back. She accepted it, too spent to smile. Hiram saw her pallor, and hastened the breakfast. Soon a little table appeared before the garden-seat, and coffee and toast and eggs were speedily forthcoming. He sat beside her, and arranged everything with the utmost care. “How good you are!” she said, once. Otherwise she was silent, and so was he. Before they had finished, a small boy entered the gate with papers under his arm. His jaw dropped as he recognized the captain and a guest at breakfast under the ragged balm-of-Gilead tree. “B’Judas, I forgot him,” muttered the host. “Come here, sonny.” The boy obeyed, and mechanically handed the captain his paper while keeping unwinking eyes on Betsy. “Now d’ye want to earn a quarter?” “Yus.” “Well, go to Mrs. Bachelder and tell her somethin’ for me. Think ye can?” “Yus.” “She’s ben wantin’ to go to Portland and do some tradin’. Can you tell her that I’ve got some business to do that’ll keep me away all to-day and she needn’t come over to get dinner?” “Yus.” “And she can go up town to-day or to-morrer mornin’ and do her tradin’ if she wants to. Can ye tell her that?” “Yus.” “Well, go on then. Here’s yer quarter. Go right there from here. D’ye hear?” “Yus.” “If I find to-morrer that ye haven’t done it, I’ll use ye for porgie-bait. Understand?” “Yus.” With this the boy removed his eyes from Betsy for the first time, and ran at a dog-trot toward the beach.