“Don’t! Don’t talk that way, Tom,” said Will; “don’t make so light of it. Your father had a letter from Lovejoy & Co., of Philadelphia. It was nearly a year ago, now; the letter said that your ship had been lost, no one knew how or where. Tom,”—here he stopped abruptly—“Come into the tavern, Tom,” said he. As they went up the tavern steps and entered the door, the loungers stared at them with wide-opened eyes. They did not recognize him, but a stranger was an object of interest in the town in those days. Will hurried him into the house, and Mrs. Bond showed them into the parlor. There was something so odd in Will’s manner, that the feeling of fear grew heavier and heavier on Tom’s spirit—the first words that he spoke, were: “Will, how’s Patty?” Will did not answer immediately, and Tom, glancing quickly up, saw that he was looking earnestly at him. There was a moment of dead silence, through which sounded the clicking of the dishes being washed in the out kitchen of the tavern. “Will, how’s Patty?” said Tom, again, and he himself noticed what a sharp ring there was in his voice. “Why don’t you speak? What’s the matter? How’s Patty?” “Patty?” “Yes; Patty.” “Patty? Oh! Patty’s all right.” Tom looked at him very keenly. His heart was crumbling within him, though he could not tell why. He felt faint and ill, and leaned heavily on the table near him. He looked out of the window, watching Black Jim watering the stage horses at the trough in the stable-yard; then, without looking back at Will, he steadied himself for the next question. “I’m no coward, Will,” said he; “you see I’ve gone through enough this year to turn my hair grey, and I’m no coward now, if I ever was before. I want you to tell me the truth; is—is Patty dead?” “Dead! No; of course she isn’t dead. She was very much broken down when she heard of the loss of the ship that you sailed in; but she’s all right now,—well and hearty.” “And she’s not sick—nothing the matter with her?” “Nothing.” Tom put his hand to his forehead, for things were swimming around him; then he gave a short laugh, but there was a quaver in it. “You frightened me pretty badly, Will,” said he; “I don’t deny that I felt as though you were dragging my heart out by the roots.” “See here, Tom, you don’t look well,” said Will; “let me call for a glass of brandy for you.” “I don’t want any brandy; I wouldn’t mind having a drop of water, though.” There was a pitcher standing on the table beside him; he tilted it and looked into it and saw that there was water in it; then he raised it to his lips and took a deep draught of it. “What did you scare me so for?” he said, half angrily, turning on Will again.