“If what all hands say about your voice is true,” he declared, “you can climb high, Esther. We’ll start you there at the Conservatory and, when you’ve learned all they can teach you, we’ll go somewhere else where you can learn more. I understand that Paris is the place where they teach the top-notchers. All right; I’ve never been to Paris. I’ve been to Havre and Marseilles and those ports, of course, but Paris was a little too expensive a side trip for a second mate. We’ll go there together, two or three years from now--oh, yes, we will! And maybe some other places before then--on your summer vacations, you know. I haven’t been to San Francisco since I was twenty-two. We’ll go out there--maybe next summer--just to get me used to cruising again. What do you say to that?” She was too overcome to say much. And during the remainder of the week he took pains to keep new pictures constantly before her eyes. On Sunday, when, after dinner, she bade farewell to her aunt, there was a temporary let down in her high spirits, but Reliance refused to consider the parting in the least a serious matter. “Why, you’ll be here every Saturday and Sunday, dearie,” she said. “And all summer. You and I will see each other almost as often as we do now. Don’t let your Uncle Foster see you cryin’. Goodness knows there is nothin’ to cry about!” Monday morning she and Townsend took the early train for Boston. He went with her to the Carter house and Esther liked its white-haired, soft-voiced proprietor at first sight. The next “port of call”--as her uncle termed it--was the Conservatory. She was thrilled by that. Then followed a marvelous shopping tour, piloted by Mrs. Carter, with purchases of gowns and hats and shoes--all sorts of necessities and luxuries. Townsend returned to Harniss on the evening train. His good-by was brief and gruffly spoken, but Esther had a feeling that he was as loath to leave her as she was, just then, to be left. He cleared his throat, started to speak, cleared his throat again and then laid his big hand on her shoulder. “Be a good girl,” he said. “Work hard and make us proud of you. I’ll be at the depot Saturday noon to meet you.... Humph! Well, I guess that’s all. Good-by.” He strode off down the street. She turned back into the house, feeling like a marooned sailor upon a desert island, with the ship which had left her there disappearing below the horizon. All her resolution was needed to prevent her running after him and begging to be taken home again. If she had it is by no means certain that he would not have done it. The library, which had begun to seem almost a pleasant place again, would now be lonelier than ever. Saturday looked a long way off.