Fortunately Garde was not unaccustomed to these interruptions on the part of the knowing bird, so that, although he always made her pause and look at him, as if she expected to see how he did it, when he spoke, she was now enabled to tell Goody her troubles with quite as much rapidity as coherence. She held back nothing. She told all about her original glimpse of Adam in the Plymouth procession, of their meeting, her immediate regard for him, then and there, the long fostering of her affection, and the events of the days just past. This done, she produced her slip of paper, on which Adam had written his mediocre verse, and laid it before the wise woman to be deciphered. Goody read the lines several times. “How old are you now, my dear?” she asked, and then she added, “It hasn’t anything to do with your worries; it is only for my own foolish gratification that I ask.” “I am eighteen,” said Garde. “Well, I should have been puzzled myself, at eighteen,” said the old woman. She looked into vacancy, for a moment, dwelling on some fond memory that brought her sad smile to her withered lips again. “But you need not be worried. He loves you, dear, as indeed he should, but for some reason or other he believes you care for somebody else, and he is therefore taking himself away. Believing as he does, he is certainly right, as well as brave, in going away.” “But I don’t love—like any one else,” protested Garde. “And I don’t see how or why he ever got such an idea into his head. He doesn’t know anybody that I know. He went to meeting with Mrs. Phipps—Oh! oh—Mr. Wainsworth!—He does know Mr. Wainsworth.” “Yes, dearie, and does Mr. Wainsworth seem to fancy you, or anything of that sort?” “And Mr. Wainsworth told us he had seen Adam, and that he told him everything,” said Garde, thinking for herself and musing aloud. “Oh, dear me!” “Oh, dear me!” said Rex, derisively. “And do you know where your Adam is going, and when?” inquired Goody. “Those ought to be your main considerations now.” “Why, to-day,” answered Garde. “But I don’t know where, or anything else about it. What shall I do? If he goes away like that, I may never see him again!” “Did you say he went to meeting with Goodwife Phipps?” “Yes,—yes, I saw him myself.” “Then you can be almost certain that he is off somewhere with Captain William Phipps, for a more restless, sea-hankering man never lived and remained so good as Captain Phipps.” “Oh, I might have thought of that!” “Then you ought to be able to think of something to do this very morning,” said Goody, a little, pretty color burning up in her wrinkled cheeks. “It is still early, and you have good stout legs.” Garde suddenly jumped up and kissed her. “Good-by!” she said. “Oh, thank you, thank you, so much! But—haven’t you something I can take to—to Captain Phipps?” Goody immediately supplied her with a small package. “Take him this tea,” she said. “No sailor should ever go to sea without it.”