“Yes, brother,” answered Parson All, in genuine appreciation of the hospitality he had received. “It was touching. Praise the Lord! I’m glad to know that such people _live_ in a selfish world like this. It was very, very touching.” Parson Jaunt’s face expressed some surprise. “Do you know what they did?” said Parson All, taking Parson Jaunt by the lapel of the coat and staring deep into his eyes. “_Do you know what they did?_” Parson Jaunt wagged his head. “Why, brother,” Parson All declared, with genuinely grateful tears in his eyes, “when I told Skipper Jonathan that brewis soured on my stomach, he got me tinned beef, and butter, and canned peaches, and cheese. I’ll never forget his goodness. Never!” Parson Jaunt stared. “What a wonderful thing Christianity is!” he exclaimed. “What a wonderful, wonderful thing! By their fruits,” he quoted, “ye shall know them.” The Black Bay clergy were called aboard. Parson Jaunt shook off the mild old Parson All and rushed to the Chairman of the District, his black coat-tails flying in the easterly wind, and wrung the Chairman’s hand, and jovially laughed until his jolly little paunch shook like jelly.... * * * * * That night, in the whitewashed cottage upon which the angry gale beat, Skipper Jonathan and Aunt Tibbie sat together by the kitchen fire. Skipper Jonathan was hopelessly in from the sea—from the white waves thereof, and the wind, and the perilous night—and Aunt Tibbie had dressed the sores on his wrists. The twins and all the rest of the little crew were tucked away and sound asleep. Skipper Jonathan sighed. “What was you thinkin’ about, Jonathan?” Aunt Tibbie asked. “Jus’ ponderin’,” said he. “Ay; but what upon?” “Well, Tibbie,” Jonathan answered, in embarrassment, “I was jus’—ponderin’.” “What is it, Jonathan?” “I was ’lowin’, Tibbie,” Jonathan admitted, “that it wouldn’t be so easy—no, not so _easy_—t’ do without that sweetness in my tea.” Aunt Tibbie sighed. “What _you_ thinkin’ about, dear?” Jonathan asked. “I got a sinful hankerin’,” Aunt Tibbie answered, repeating the sigh. “Is you, dear?” “I got a sinful hankerin’,” said she, “for that there bottle o’ hair-restorer. For I don’t _want_ t’ go bald! God forgive me,” she cried, in an agony of humiliation, “for this vanity!” “Hush, dear!” Jonathan whispered, tenderly; “for I loves you, bald or not!” But Aunt Tibbie burst out crying. VII—“BY-AN’-BY” BROWN OF BLUNDER COVE “By-an’-by” Brown he was called at Blunder Cove. And as “By-an’-by” Brown he was known within its fishing radius: Grave Head to Blow-me-down Billy. Momentarily, on the wet night of his landing, he had been “Mister” Brown; then—just “By-an’-by” Brown.