“That is the way the master of a ship should die,” he declared. “Your father, Mr. Knowles, was a man and he died like one. He was my first American acquaintance and he gave me a new idea of Yankees--if you'll excuse my calling them that, sir.” Hephzy had a comment to make. “There are SOME pretty fair Yankees,” she observed, drily. “ALL the good folks haven't moved back to England yet.” The captain solemnly assured her that he was certain of it. “Though two of the best are on their way,” I added, with a wink at Hephzy. This attempt at humor was entirely lost. Our companion said he presumed I referred to Mr. and Mrs. Van Hook, who sat next him at table. “And that leads me to ask if Miss Cahoon and yourself will not join us,” he went on. “I could easily arrange for two places.” I looked at Hephzy. Her face expressed decided disapproval and she shook her head. “Thank you, Captain Stone,” I said; “but we have a table to ourselves and are very comfortable. We should not think of troubling you to that extent.” He assured us it would not be a trouble, but a pleasure. We were firm in our refusal, however, and he ceased to urge. He declared his intention of seeing that our quarters were adequate, offered to accompany us through the engine-rooms and the working portions of the ship whenever we wished, ordered the deck steward, who was all but standing on his head in obsequious desire to oblige, to take good care of us, shook hands once more, and went away. Hephzibah drew a long breath. “My goodness!” she exclaimed; “sit at HIS table! I guess not! There's another lord and his wife there, to say nothin' of the Van Hooks. I'd look pretty, in my Cape Cod clothes, perched up there, wouldn't I! A hen is all right in her place, but she don't belong in a peacock cage. And they drink champagne ALL the time there; I've watched 'em. No thank you, I'll stay in the henyard along with the everyday fowls.” “Odd that he should have known Father,” I observed. “Well, I suppose the proper remark to make, under the circumstances, is that this is a small world. That is what nine-tenths of Bayport would say.” “It's what I say, too,” declared Hephzy, with emphasis. “Well, it's awful encouraging for us, isn't it.” “Encouraging? What do you mean?” “Why, I mean about Little Frank. It makes me feel surer than ever that we shall run across him.” I suppressed a groan. “Hephzy,” said I, “why on earth should the fact that Captain Stone knew my father encourage you to believe that we shall meet a person we never knew at all?” “Hosy, how you do talk! If you and I, just cruisin' this way across the broadside of creation, run across a man that knew Cousin Philander thirty-nine years ago, isn't it just as reasonable to suppose we'll meet a child who was born twenty-one years ago? I should say 'twas! Hosy, I've had a presentiment about this cruise of ours: We're SENT on it; that's what I think--we're sent. Oh, you can laugh! You'll see by and by. THEN you won't laugh.”