It was when we crossed the line that I was made third mate. Not long after, in the latitude of about 15° N., we ran into a gale, which started the seams of the patch on the bottom. No doubt Cape Horn weather had something to do with it, but we had had no proper planking to mend it with, and it was rather weak. That started a leak which increased from day to day. With our extra men, Captain Coffin hoped that we could pump her home; but by the time we were off Hatteras it had increased so much that {360} the men were kept steadily at the pumps, and we put into Norfolk. I left the Battles at Norfolk. I was anxious to get home, and could not even wait for the boat, which would have been cheaper. I went by train, and got in at the old wooden station on Pearl Street—“deepo’ ” we called it, early Egyptian architecture—with less than a dollar in my pocket. It was only a few blocks from my home, however, and what use had I for money? I ran all the way. As I turned the last corner, I stopped with a gasp. I had barely escaped running into a girl—and such a girl! I knew her at once, although she had blossomed since I went away, and she was wearing no ostrich plume in her hat. Jimmy had not exaggerated. She had stopped, too. She had to, for I brought to directly in front of her. “Oh,” she said, with a little smile, “I beg your pardon.” “Ann!” I said breathlessly. “Ann McKim, don’t you know me?” I put out my hand, and her hand came slowly forward to meet it, while she looked up at me doubtfully. I watched the changing expression of her eyes. Recognition came into them suddenly, and she clasped my hand warmly. “Goody gracious!” she cried. “It ’s Tim, I do believe! It ’s not strange that I did n’t know you! How you ’ve grown and broadened! I might have taken you for your father. You ’re as big as he is.” “Am I?” I grinned, holding to her hand as if it were my mooring. “Am I, Ann?” “And you ’re the color of new copper,” she added. “Have you been home yet?” I shook my head. “I was just going there when I nearly ran you down.” “Well, go along, Timmie, for mercy’s sake, and let your mother get a sight of you.” She freed her hand {361} gently, and gave me a little push. “Do they expect you?” “No, I came by train. It ’ll be a surprise.” “Why did n’t you let them know?” “Did n’t think of it. We—but I ’ll tell you all about it—” “To-night. I ’ll come in pretty late—nearly nine o’clock. Good-bye.” She was gone around the corner before I could say a word. I gaped at the corner, then ran on again. Our house was only a little way up the street. Nobody locked their doors in those days, and dashing up the steps without stopping, I threw open the front door. I stood for a moment, with my hand on the doorknob, listening for a sound to let me know where anybody was. How often I had done just that! My mother might be in the kitchen, or upstairs in her room, sewing. I heard nothing but a faint humming. “Mother!” I called.