A deep, dry sorrow constricted Olive's, heart. Suddenly the details of packing her father's blue sea chest returned to her mind--the wool socks she had knitted and carefully folded in the bottom, the needles and emery and thread stowed in their scarlet bag, the tin of goose grease for his throat, the Bible that had been shipped so often. She thought of them all scattered and rent in the wild sea, of her father---- She forced herself to rise, with a set face, and put her hand on Rhoda's shoulder. “It's right to mourn, like Rachel, but don't forget the majesty of God.” Rhoda shook off her palm and continued in an ecstasy of emotional relief. Olive hardened. “Get up,” she commanded; “we must fix things here, for the neighbors and Pastor will be in. I wish Jem were back.” At this Rhoda became even more unrestrained, and Olive remembered that Jem too was at sea, and that probably he had been caught in the same gale. “He'll be all right,” she added quickly; “the fishing boats live through everything.” Yet she was infinitely relieved when, two days later, Jem arrived safely home. He came into the house with a pounding of heavy boots, a powerfully built youth with a rugged jaw and an intent quiet gaze. “I heard at the wharf,” he told Olive. They were in the kitchen, and he pulled off his boots and set them away from the stove. “I'm thankful you're so steady and able,” she said. “I am glad Jason's coming home--rich,” he replied tersely. Later, after supper, while they still sat at the table, he went on, “There is a fine yawl for sale at Ipswich, sails ain't been made a year, fifty-five tons; I could do right good with that. The fishing's never been better. Do you think Jason would be content to buy her, Olive? I could pay him back after a run or two.” “He told you he'd do something like that,” she answered. “I guess now it wouldn't mean much to him.” “And I'll be away,” Rhoda eagerly added; “you wouldn't have to give me anything, Jem. Jason promised me, too.” An unreasonable and disturbing sense of insecurity enveloped Olive. But, of course, it would be all right--Jason was coming back rich, to marry her. Jem would have the yawl and Rhoda get away to study singing. And yet all that she vaguely dreaded about Jason himself persisted darkly at the back of her consciousness, augmented by Honora Canderay's warning. She was a little afraid of Jason, too; in a way, after so long, he seemed like a stranger, a stranger whom she was going to wed. “He'll be all dressed up,” Rhoda stated. “I hope, Olive, you will kiss him as soon as he steps through the door. I know I would.” “Don't be so shameless, Rhoda,” the elder admonished her. “You are very indelicate. I'd never think of kissing Jason like that.” “I will go over and see the man who owns her,” Jem said enigmatically. “She's a cockpit boat, but I heard the wave wasn't made that could fill her. And we have my share of the last run till Jason's here.”