“Yes,” he said, his eyes fixed on the visitor's face. “Yes. Don't forget what you said last night.” Smith shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I ain't the kind that forgets, unless it pays pretty well. There's some things I've remembered for quite a few years.” He looked the child over from head to foot and his brows drew together in an ugly frown. “So this is her, hey?” he muttered musingly. “Humph! Well, I don't know as I'd have guessed it. Favors the other side of the house more--the respectable side, I should say. Still, there's a little brand of the lost sheep, hey? Enough to prove property, huh? Mark of the beast, I s'pose the psalm-singin' relations would call it. D--n em! I--” “Steady!” broke in the captain. Mr. Smith started, seemed to remember where he was, and his manner changed. “Come and see me, honey,” he coaxed, drawing the girl toward him by the hand he was holding. “Ain't you got a nice kiss for me this fine mornin'? Don't be scared. I won't bite.” Bos'n looked shrinkingly at Mr. Smith's unshaven cheeks and then at Captain Cy. The latter's face was absolutely devoid of expression. He merely nodded. So Emily kissed one of the bristling cheeks. The kiss was returned full upon the mouth. She wiped her lips and darted away to her chair by the table. “What's your hurry?” inquired the visitor. “Don't I do it right? Been some time since I kissed a girl--a little one, anyhow,” he added, winking at his host. “Never mind, we'll know each other better by and by.” He looked on in wondering disgust as Bos'n said her “grace.” “What in blazes!” he burst out when the little blessing was finished. “Who put her up to that? A left-over from the psalm-singers, is it?” “I don't know,” answered the captain, speaking with deliberation. “I do know that I like to have her do it and that she shall do it as long's she's at this table.” “Oh! she shall, hey? Well, I reckon--” “She shall--AS LONG AS SHE'S AT THIS TABLE. Is that real plain and understandable, or shall I write it down?” There was an icy clearness in the captain's tone which seemed to freeze further conversation on the part of Mr. Smith. He merely grunted and ate his breakfast in silence. He ate a great deal and ate it rapidly. Bos'n departed for school when the meal was over. Captain Cy helped her on with her coat and hood. Then, as he always did of late, he kissed her good-by. “Hi!” called Mr. Smith from the sitting room. “Ain't I in on that? If there's any kisses goin' I want to take a hand before the deal's over.” “Must I?” whispered Bos'n pleadingly. “Must I, Uncle Cy? I don't want to. I don't like him.” “Come on!” called Mr. Smith. “I'm gettin' over my bashfulness fast. Hurry up!” “Must I kiss him, Uncle Cyrus?” whispered Bos'n. “MUST I?” “No!” snapped the captain sharply. “Trot right along now, dearie. Be a good girl. Good-by.” He entered the sitting room. His guest had found the Sunday box and was lighting one of his host's cigars.