“'Well,' says I, 'mother, pack up your things, and come right aboard the sloop; for I've come to take you home, and take care of you: so put up your things.' “Well, I took hold and helped her, and we put ben sick and all alone, having a drefful hard things together lively, and packed up her trunks, and tied up the bed and pillows and bedclothes, and took her rocking-chair and bureau and tables and chairs down to the sloop. And when I came down, bringing her and all her things, Ben More seemed to see what I was after; but how or why the idea came into my head I never told him. There's things that a man feels shy of tellin',' and I didn't want to talk about it. “Well, when we was all aboard, the wind sprung up fair and steady, and we went on at a right spanking pace; and the fellows said the Harpswell girls had got hold of our rope, and was pulling us with all their might; and we came in all right the very day before Thanksgiving. And my wife was as glad to see mother as if she'd expected her, and fixed up the front-chamber for her, with a stove in't, and plenty of kindlings. And the children was all so glad to see grandma, and we had the best kind of a Thanksgiving!” “Well,” said I, “nobody could say there wasn't any use in _that_ spirit's coming (if spirit it was): it had a most practical purpose.” “Well,” said the captain, “I've been all round the world, in all sorts of countries, seen all sorts of queer, strange things, and seen so many things that I never could have believed if I hadn't seen 'em, that I never say I won't believe this or that. If I see a thing right straight under my eyes, I don't say it couldn't 'a' ben there 'cause college-folks say there ain't no such things.” “How do you know it wasn't all a dream?” said my chum. “How do I know?' Cause I was broad awake, and I gen 'lly know when I'm awake and when I'm asleep. I think Mr. More found me pretty wide awake.” It was now time to turn in, and we slept soundly while the “Brilliant” ploughed her way. By daybreak the dome of the State House was in sight. “I've settled the captain's story,” said my chum to me. “It can all be accounted for on the theory of cerebral hallucination.” “All right,” said I; “but it answered the purpose beautifully for the old mother.” End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sam Lawson's Oldtown Fireside Stories, by Harriet Beecher Stowe