“No, indeed!” exclaimed Betsy eagerly. “You never saw anything so beautiful. I—” “Yes,” interrupted Hiram, “I’ve got ’em pinned up on the wall, and, come October, you’ll tell me all about it evenin’s. I cal’late what with Europe and all the globe-trottin’ you’ve done lately, I’m goin’ to have a wife that’ll beat that She-Herod-Sady that told the Arabian Nights, all holler; and what’s more, you won’t ever be afraid ye’ll get yer head cut off; so ye’ll be ahead of her, every way.” “Hiram,” said Betsy severely, “what do you think o’ my findin’ Rosalie ’way out there?” “I think ’twas part of her good luck.” “What good luck has the child ever had?” “That, and all that come of it.” Betsy stared, a little disappointed at her admirer’s foreknowledge. “Has Mr. Irving told you—” she began. “Irving hasn’t had a chance to tell me much. That Nixie feller talks to beat the clapper of a bell.” “But you like him, don’t you, Hiram? He’s an awful nice, kind boy.” “I guess he will be when I get him trained,” returned Hiram equably. “He’s beginnin’ to understand that I’m the cap’n o’ the Betsy.” “If you knew how disagreeable that sounds, you’d never say it in my presence!” Hiram lifted the sea-blue eyes, and fixed hers with their gaze. “That sentence has got more music in it,” he declared slowly, “than any other in the English language. I’ll be good to you, Betsy—as good as a man knows how to be to a woman. You’ve taken care o’ folks for the last twenty years. I want the job o’ takin’ care o’ you the next twenty.” He looked very manly as he said it, his strong figure leaning square shoulders toward her. A swift vision chased through her brain of her precious boy henceforth busy in the bank by day, and in society by night; of Mrs. Bruce’s increasing querulousness and exactions, stretching out into an indefinite future. The captain’s fireside, and herself mistress of his hearth and home, suddenly showed with an attraction she had never felt before; as if it were a haven of shelter from that monotonous other future, with its stern sense of duty, and its occasional high-lights. “I believe you cal’late to tire me out, Hiram.” “Shouldn’t wonder,” he returned, leaning back again and biting his blade of grass. “Why don’t you ask me about Rosalie?” said Betsy. “What do you know?” “Why, Irving told me that you found her out there, and wheedled some old gent into payin’ her way back East again, and that she was in Boston now, and that you’re keepin’ an eye on her.” “Old gentleman!” repeated Betsy indignantly. “If you call yourself one, then he is. He’s just about your age.” “I’m just the right age to be a bridegroom,” responded Captain Salter promptly. “I hope Mr. Irving didn’t say anything about this before Mr. Nixon. It’s a secret.” “No. He got a chance at me alone while we was mendin’ a sail. He told me mum was the word. I’ll bet a cookie, Betsy, that now you’ve got Rosalie in Boston you don’t know what to do with her.”