"Why, that's all I'm good for, Frank; I always pick out the snarls in the house, you know, and I should like to try it once in the barn." "The tarnal old thing's bewitched, I believe," said Frank, allowing his sister to interfere and quietly untwist and turn right side out the various parts which he had put wrong by all sorts of torsion. "I'll teach Boston chaps to know that there are some things they can't have for money! When Nell and I have agreed to have a good time, we a'n't goin' to be ordered off nor bought off;--we'll _have_ it." "So _I_ say, Frank. But suppose _I_ wanted you to give _me_ a ride, Frank?" "Why, Laule, you know I would go to the North Pole with you. If Mam would only let _you_ go to Concord with me, I'd wait till noon for you." "Well, maybe she will, Frank. She wants you to carry that man to Captain Grant's bad enough to let me go in the afternoon." "But I told him I wouldn't carry him,--and, gol darn it, I won't!" "Of course you won't carry him on his own account, or for the sake of his money,--but for my sake perhaps you will." "Well, Sis, perhaps I will. But, mind, before I do, Mam shall promise, sartin sure, to let you go by half-past twelve o'clock, and not a minit later." "Well, I'll see she does; you harness Nell, and get the buggy. The man says he's sorry he spoke to you so. If he's carried to Captain Grant's and back, I'll answer for it's being the best for all of us." She was off to the house like a bird, and the rest of her diplomacy was too simple and straightforward to need special record. As the buggy was at the door before the table presented the savory temptation of fried eels, Chip declined breakfast at present, but decidedly promised to take it on his return. He dropped in on Captain Grant, as he was careful to tell that gentleman, having had business in Waltham that morning, and thinking he might perhaps save him a journey to town. The ship-owner had just finished the news of the morning papers, for which he had sent a messenger express to the post-office, and said, after the cordial salutation which a rough sort of man always gives in his own house,-- "Well, Mr. Dartmouth, I see the market is as close-reefed as ever. Maybe you think I will sell at five and three-fourths to-day, but I've concluded to make a floating warehouse of the 'Orion' for the winter, rather than do that." "I don't blame you for that, my friend; but in the present state of advices, six at two months is the highest mill that will do. If you will close the 'Orion's' cargo at that, I am your man." "What I've said, I'll do, Sir, of course," said the tough old salt; "and since you've taken the trouble to come out here and save my lame toes, let's nail the bargain with a bottle of my old Madeira,--some of the ripest this side of the herring-pond, I'll be bound." "Not a drop, I thank you; for, besides being a teetotaller, Captain, I'm behind time to-day, and must bid you good-morning."