“I understand she's a little mite hard of hearin',” replied Mr. Bangs, with dignity; “but that ain't any drawback, the way I look at it. Fact is, I'd call it an advantage, but you folks seem to be hard to please. I ruther imagined you'd thank me for gettin' her, but I s'pose that was too much to expect. All right, pitch her out! Don't mind MY feelin's! Poor homeless critter comin' to--” “Homeless!” repeated Asaph. “What's that got to do with it? Cy ain't runnin' the Old Woman's Home.” “Well, well!” observed the captain resignedly. “There's no use in rowin' about what can't be helped. Bailey says he shipped her for a month's trial, and here comes the depot wagon now. That's her on the aft thwart, I judge. She AIN'T what you'd call a spring pullet, is she!” She certainly was not. The occupant of the depot wagon's rear seat was a thin, not to say scraggy, female, wearing a black, beflowered bonnet and a black gown. A black knit shawl was draped about her shoulders and she wore spectacles. “Whoa!” commanded Mr. Lumley, piloting the depot wagon to the side door of the Whittaker house. Dan'l Webster came to anchor immediately. Gabe turned and addressed his passenger. “Here we be!” he shouted. “Hey?” observed the lady in black. “Here--we--be!” repeated Gabe, raising his voice. “See? See what?” “Oh, heavens to Betsey! I'm gettin' the croup from howlin'. I--say--HERE--WE--BE! GET OUT!” He accompanied the final bellow with an expressive pantomime indicating that the passenger was expected to alight. She seemed to understand, for she opened the door of the carriage and slowly descended. Mr. Bangs advanced to meet her. “How d'ye do, Mrs. Beasley!” he said. “Glad to see you all safe and sound.” Mrs. Beasley shook his hand; hers were covered, as far as the knuckles, by black mitts. “How d'ye do, Cap'n Whittaker?” she said, in a shrill voice. “You pretty smart?” Bailey hastened to explain. “I ain't Cap'n Whittaker,” he roared. “I'm Bailey Bangs, the one that wrote to you.” “Hey?” Mr. Lumley and Asaph chuckled. Bailey colored and tried again. “I ain't the cap'n,” he whooped. “Here he is--here!” He led her over to her prospective employer and tapped the latter on the chest. “How d'ye do, sir?” said the housekeeper. “I don't know's I just caught your name.” In five minutes or so the situation was made reasonably clear. Mrs. Beasley then demanded her trunk and carpet bag. The grinning Lumley bore them into the house. Then he drove away, still grinning. Bailey looked fearfully at Captain Cy. “She IS kind of hard of hearin', ain't she?” he said reluctantly. “You remember I said she was.” The captain nodded. “Yes,” he answered, “you're a truth-tellin' chap, Bailey, I'll say that for you. You don't exaggerate your statements.” “Hard of hearin'!” snapped Mr. Tidditt. “If the last trump ain't a steam whistle she'll miss Judgment Day. I'll stop into Simmons's on my way along and buy you a bottle of throat balsam, Cy; you're goin' to need it.”