“Hush, hush, Shadrach! Don't joke about serious things. What I mean is have you and I walked the Lord's way as straight as we'd ought to? We've tried--that is, seems 's if we had--but I don't know. Anyhow, all this afternoon I've had a funny feelin' that you and me and Mary-'Gusta was--well was as if the tide had been comin' in for us all these years since she's been livin' with us, and as if now 'twould begin to go out again.” The Captain laughed. “And that's what you call a FUNNY feelin'!” he exclaimed. “Zoeth, I've got a funny feelin', too, but I know what's the reason for it--the reason is turkey and plum puddin' and mince pie and the land knows what. When a couple of old hulks like you and me h'ist in a cargo of that kind it's no wonder we have feelin's. Good night, shipmate.” CHAPTER XIII The day after New Year's Mary went back to Boston and to school. The long winter term--the term which Madeline Talbott, whose father was a judge, called “the extreme penalty”--began. Boston's famous east winds, so welcome in summer and so raw and penetrating in winter, brought their usual allowance of snow and sleet, and the walks from Pinckney Street to the school and back were not always pleasant. Mrs. Wyeth had a slight attack of tonsillitis and Miss Pease a bronchial cold, but they united in declaring these afflictions due entirely to their own imprudence and not in the least to the climate, which, being like themselves, thoroughly Bostonian, was expected to maintain a proper degree of chill. Mary, fortunately, escaped colds and illness. The walks in all sorts of weather did her good and her rosy cheeks and clear eyes were competent witnesses to her state of health. She was getting on well with her studies, and the Misses Cabot, not too easy to please, were apparently pleased with her. At home--for she had come to consider Mrs. Wyeth's comfortable house a home, although not of course to be compared with the real home at South Harniss--at Mrs. Wyeth's she was more of a favorite than ever, not only with the mistress of the house, but with Miss Pease, who was considered eccentric and whose liking was reported hard to win. The two ladies had many talks concerning the girl. “She is remarkable,” declared Miss Pease on one occasion. “Considering her lack of early advantages, I consider her ease of manner and self-possession remarkable. She is a prodigy.” Mrs. Wyeth sniffed. She enjoyed hearing Mary praised, but she objected to her friend's choice of words. “For mercy sake, Letitia,” she said, “don't call her that. The word 'prodigy' always reminds me of the Crummles infant, the one with the green parasol and the white--er--lingerie, in 'Nicholas Nickleby.'” Miss Pease smiled with the superiority of the corrected who is about to correct.