“Cy, my boy, come in here;”--he hunted about in his pocket for the key of the cupboard;--“Cyrus, I'll tell you what happened: that female across the street came in, and told poor Gussie some cock-and-bull story about her mother and me!” The Captain chuckled, and picked up his harmonicon. “It scared the life out of Gussie,” he said; then, with sudden angry gravity,--“These people that poke their noses into other people's business ought to be thrashed. Well, I'm going over to see Mrs. North.” And off he stumped, leaving Cyrus staring after him, open-mouthed. If Mary North had been at home, she would have met him with all the agonized courage of shyness and a good conscience. But she had fled out of the house, and down along the River Road, to be alone and regain her self-control. The Captain, however, was not seeking Miss North. He opened the front door, and advancing to the foot of the stairs, called up: “Ahoy, there! Mrs. North!” Mrs. North came trotting out to answer the summons. “Why, Alfred!” she exclaimed, looking over the banisters, “when did you come in? I didn't hear the bell ring. I'll come right down.” “It didn't ring; I walked in,” said the Captain. And Mrs. North came downstairs, perhaps a little stiffly, but as pretty an old lady as you ever saw. Her white curls lay against faintly pink cheeks, and her lace cap had a pink bow on it. But she looked anxious and uncomfortable. (“Oh,” she was saying to herself, “I do hope Mary's out!)--Well, Alfred?” she said; but her voice was frightened. The Captain stumped along in front of her into the parlor, and motioned her to a seat. “Mrs. North,” he said, his face red, his eye hard, “some jack-donkeys have been poking their noses (of course they're females) into our affairs; and--” “Oh, Alfred, isn't it horrid in them?” “Darn 'em!” said the Captain. “It makes me mad!” cried Mrs. North; then her spirit wavered. “Mary is so foolish; she says she'll--she'll take me away from Old Chester. I laughed at first, it was so foolish. But when she said that-oh _dear!_” “Well, but, my dear madam, say you won't go. Ain't you skipper?” “No, I'm not,” she said, dolefully. “Mary brought me here, and she'll take me away, if she thinks it best. Best for _me_, you know. Mary is a good daughter, Alfred. I don't want you to think she isn't. But she's foolish. Unmarried women are apt to be foolish.” The Captain thought of Gussie, and sighed. “Well,” he said, with the simple candor of the sea, “I guess there ain't much difference in 'em, married or unmarried.” “It's the interference makes me mad,” Mrs. North declared, hotly. “Damn the whole crew!” said the Captain; and the old lady laughed delightedly. “Thank you, Alfred!” “My daughter-in-law is crying her eyes out,” the Captain sighed. “Tck!” said Mrs. North; “Alfred, you have no sense. Let her cry. It's good for her!” “Oh no,” said the Captain, shocked. “You're a perfect slave to her,” cried Mrs. North.