“Well, if you will you will, of course. When you bark at a body that way there ain’t a mite of use barkin’ back, I know that. And I realize that you and--and her that’s gone had the best time in the world buildin’ over this house and riggin’ it up. It’s just that I know how lonesome you are--a blind person could see that.... Here, here! You mustn’t get up from that table yet, Cap’n Foster. You’ve got to have some more of my tautog chowder.” “No. Had enough, Nabby.” “My soul! Well, then you must have a helpin’ of baked indian puddin’. I made it ’special, because I knew how you liked it. _Don’t_ tell me you won’t touch that puddin’!” “All right, all right. Bring it along. And I’ll have another cup of tea, if you’ve got it.” “Got it! I’ve got a gallon. That Varunas man of mine would drink a hogshead of strong tea all to himself any time if I’d let him. I tell him no wonder he’s all shriveled up like a wet leather apron.” She disappeared into the kitchen to return, a moment later, with the refilled cup. She was talking when she went out and talking when she came back. “You hadn’t ought to keep on livin’ in this house all alone,” she declared, with emphasis. “I said it afore and now I say it again. It ain’t natural to live that way. It ain’t good for man to be alone, that’s what the Good Book says. Land sakes! afore I’d do that I’d--I’d do the way the rich man in the--what-d’ye-call-it--parallel done. I’d go out into the highways and byways and fetch in the lame and the halt and the blind. Yes, indeed I would! I’d do it for company and I wouldn’t care how halt they was, neither; they’d be better’n nobody. Speakin’ about that parallel,” she added, reflectively. “I’ve never been real sure just what ailed a person when he was a ‘halt.’ A horse--mercy knows I hear horse talk enough from Varunas!--has somethin’ sometimes that’s called the ‘spring halt,’ but that, so he tells me, is a kind of lameness. Now the parallel tells about the lame _and_ the halt, so-- Good gracious! Why, you ain’t _through_, be you, Cap’n Foster? You ain’t hardly touched your puddin’.” The captain had risen and pushed back his chair. “I’ve eaten all I can to-night, Nabby,” he said. “My appetite seems to have gone on a voyage these days and left me ashore.... Humph! So you think I’d better have somebody come and live here with me, do you? That’s funny.” “Why is it funny? Sounds like sense to me.” “It’s funny because I had just about made up my mind-- Oh, well, never mind that, I’m going out pretty soon. If any one comes to see me you can tell them I’ve gone.” “Where shall I say you’ve gone?” “If you don’t know you won’t have to say it.... Good-night.” “Shall I tell Varunas to have the carriage and team ready for you?” “No, I’m going to walk.” “Walk! What’ll people think if they see _you_ out a-walkin’ on your own feet like--like common folks? The idea!”