“Trot right in. You might--er--maybe you might sing out when you're tucked up. I--I'll want to know if you're got bedclothes enough.” Emily disappeared in the bedroom. The door closed. Captain Cy, his hands in his pockets, walked up and down the length of the sitting room. The expression on his face was a queer one. “I haven't got any nightgown,” called a voice from the other room. The captain gasped. “Good land! so you ain't,” he exclaimed. “What in the world--Humph! I wonder--” He went to the lower drawer of a tall “highboy” and, from the tumbled mass of apparel therein took one of his own night garments. “Here's one,” he said, coming back with it in his hand. “I guess you'll have to make this do for now. It'll fit you enough for three times to once, but it's all I've got.” A small hand reached 'round the edge of the door and the nightshirt disappeared. Captain Cy chuckled and resumed his pacing. “I'm tucked up,” called Miss Thomas. The captain entered and found her in bed, the patchwork points and diamonds of the “Rising Sun” quilt covering her to the chin and her head denting the uppermost of the two big pillows. Captain Cy liked to “sleep high.” “Got enough over you?” he asked. “Yes, sir, thank you.” “That's good. I'll take your togs out and dry 'em in the kitchen. Don't be scared; I'll be right back.” In the kitchen he sorted the wet garments and hung them about the cook stove. It was a strange occupation for him and he shook his head whimsically as he completed it. Then he took a flat iron, one of Mrs. Beasley's purchases, from the shelf in the closet and put it in the oven to heat. Soon afterwards he returned to the bedroom, bearing the iron wrapped in a dish towel. “My ma always used to put a hot flat to my feet when I was a young one and got chilled,” he explained. “I ain't used one for some time, but I guess it's a good receipt. How do you feel now? Any more icicles?” “No, sir. I'm ever so warm. Isn't this a nice bed?” “Think so, do you? Glad of it. Well, now, I'm goin' to leave you in it while I step down street and see about havin' your box sent for. I'll be back in a shake. If anybody comes to the door while I'm gone don't you worry; let 'em go away again.” He put on his hat and left the house, walking rapidly, his head down and his hands in his pockets. At times he would pause in his walk, whistle, shake his head, and go on once more. Josiah Dimick met him, and his answers to Josiah's questions were so vague and irrelevant that Captain Dimick was puzzled, and later expressed the opinion that “Whit's cookin' must be pretty bad; acted to me as if he had dyspepsy of the brain.” Captain Cy stopped at Mr. Lumley's residence to leave an order for the delivery of the box. Then he drifted into Simmons's and accosted Alpheus Smalley. “Al,” he said, “what's good for a cold?” “Why?” asked Mr. Smalley, in true Yankee fashion. “You got one?”