“Wan't it sweet of him to come?” whispered Miss Phinney to Keturah. “And him so nice and everyday and sociable. And when Cap'n Whittaker's runnin' against his friend, as you might say.” Keturah replied with a dubious shake of the head. “I think Captain Cyrus is goin' to get into trouble,” she said. “I've preached to Bailey more 'n a little about keepin' clear, but he won't.” “Games in t'other room now,” ordered Captain Cy. But Mr. Atkins held up his hand. “Pardon me, just a moment, Cyrus, if you please,” he said. “I feel that on this happy occasion, it is my duty and pleasure to propose a toast.” He held his lemonade glass aloft. “Permit me,” he proclaimed, “to wish many happy birthdays and long life to Miss--I beg pardon, Cyrus, but what is your little friend's name?” “Emily Richards Thayer,” replied the captain, carried away by enthusiasm and off his guard for once. “To Em--” began Heman. Then he paused and for the first time in his public life seemed at a loss for words. “What?” he asked, and his hand shook. “I fear I didn't catch the name.” “No wonder,” laughed Mr. Tidditt. “Cy's so crazy to-night he'd forget his own name. Know what you said, Cy? You said she was Emily Richards THAYER! Haw! haw! She ain't a Thayer, Heman; her last name's Thomas. She's Emily Richards Thayer's granddaughter though. Her granddad was John Thayer, over to Orham. Good land! I forgot. Well, what of it, Cy? 'Twould have to be known some time.” Everyone looked at Captain Cy then. No one observed Mr. Atkins for the moment. When they did turn their gaze upon the great man he had sunk back in his chair, the glass of lemonade was upset upon the cloth before him, and he, with a very white face, was staring at Emily Richards Thomas. “What's the matter, Heman?” asked the captain anxiously. “Ain't sick, are you?” The congressman started. “Oh, no!” he said hurriedly. “Oh, no! but I'm afraid I've soiled your cloth. It was awkward of me. I--I really, I apologize--I--” He wiped his face with his handkerchief. Captain Cy laughed. “Oh, never mind the tablecloth,” he said. “I cal'late it's too soiled already to be hurt by a bath, even a lemon one. Well, you've all heard the toast. Full glasses, now. Here's TO you, Bos'n! Drink hearty, all hands, and give the ship a good name.” If the heartiness with which they drank is a criterion, the good name of the ship was established. Then the assembly adjourned to the sitting room and--yes, even the front parlor. Not since the days when that sacred apartment had been desecrated by the irreverent city boarders, during the Howes regime, had its walls echoed to such whoops and shouts of laughter. The children played “Post Office” and “Copenhagen” and “Clap in, Clap out,” while the grown folks looked on. “Ain't they havin' a fine time, Cap?” gushed Miss Phinney. “Don't it make you wish you was young again?”