Keziah Coffin Part 39

"O Aunt Keziah! if I could be one half as patient and brave and sweet as you are--"

"Sss.h.!.+ here comes Nat. Be kind to him. He's sufferin', too; maybe more'n you imagine. Here she is, Nat. Take her back home and be good to her."

The broad-shouldered skipper led his charge out of the gate and down the "Turn-off." Josiah Badger looked after them disgustedly. As Keziah approached, he turned to her.

"I swan to man!" he exclaimed, in offended indignation, "if I ain't losin' my respect for that Nat Hammond. He's the f-f-fuf-for'ardest critter ever I see. I was just agoin' to hail Gracie and ask her what she thought about my leadin' some of the meetin's now her uncle has been called aloft. I wanted to ask her about it fust, afore Zeke Ba.s.sett got ahead of me, but that Nat wouldn't let me. Told me she mustn't be b-b-b-bothered about little things now. LITTLE things! Now, what do you think of that, Mrs. Coffin? And I spoke to Lot Taylor, one of our own s-s-sas-sa.s.siety, and asked what he thought of it, and he said for me to go home set d-d-down and let my h-h-h-hah-hair grow. Of all--"

"I tell you what you do, Josiah," broke in the voice of Captain Zeb Mayo, "you go home or somewhere else and set down and have it cut.

That'll take pretty nigh as long, and'll keep it from wearin' out your coat collar. Keziah, I've been waitin' for you. Get in my shay and I'll drive you back to the parsonage."

Mrs. Coffin accepted the invitation and a seat in the chaise beside Captain Zeb. The captain spoke of the dead Come-Outer and of his respect for him in spite of the difference in creed. He also spoke of the Rev.

John Ellery and of the affection he had come to feel for the young man.

"I like that young feller, Keziah," he said. "Like him for a lot of reasons, same as the boy liked the hash. For one thing, his religion ain't all starch and no sugar. He's good-hearted and kind and--and human. He seems to get just as much satisfaction out of the promise of heaven as he does out of the sartainty of t'other port. He ain't all the time bangin' the bulkhead and sniffin' brimstone, like parsons I have seen. Sulphur's all right for a spring medicine, maybe, but when June comes I like to remember that G.o.d made roses. Elkanah, he comes to me a while ago and he says, 'Zebedee,' he says, 'don't you think Mr. Ellery's sermons might be more orthodox?' 'Yes,' says I, 'they might be, but what a mercy 'tis they ain't.' He, he, he! I kind of like to poke Elkanah in the s.h.i.+rt front once in a while, just to hear it crackle. Say, Keziah, you don't think the minister and Annabel are--"

"No," was the emphatic interruption; "I know they ain't; he ain't, anyway."

"Good! Them Danielses cal'late they own the most of this town already; if they owned the minister they'd swell up so the rest of us would have to go aloft or overboard; we'd be crowded off the decks, sure."

"No one owns him. Haven't you found that out?"

"Yup, I cal'late I have and I glory in his s.p.u.n.k."

"I'm glad to hear you say so. Of course Cap'n Elkanah is boss of the parish committee and--"

"What? No, he ain't nuther. He's head of it, but his vote counts just one and no more. What makes you say that?"

"Oh, nuthin'. Only I thought maybe, long as Elkanah was feelin' that Mr.

Ellery wa'n't orthodox enough, he might be goin' to make a change."

"He might? HE might! Say, Keziah Coffin, there was Mayos in this town and in this church afore the fust Daniels ever washed ash.o.r.e; and they'll be here when the last one blows up with his own importance. I'm on that parish committee--you understand?--and I've sailed s.h.i.+ps and handled crews. I ain't so old nor feeble but what I can swing a belayin'

pin. Boss! I'll have you to know that no livin' man bosses me."

"All right! I didn't mean to stir you up, Zebedee. But from things Cap'n Daniels has said I gathered that he was runnin' the committee. And, as I'm a friend of Mr. Ellery, it--"

"Friend! Well, so'm I, ain't I? If you ever hear of Daniels tryin' any tricks against the minister, you send for me, that's all. I'LL show him.

Boss! Humph!"

The wily Keziah alighted at the parsonage gate with the feeling that she had sown seed in fertile ground. She was quite aware of Captain Zeb's jealousy of the great Daniels. And the time might come when her parson needed an influential friend on the committee and in the Regular society.

The news of the engagement between Captain Nat Hammond and Grace Van Horne, told by Dr. Parker to one or two of his patients, spread through Trumet like measles through a family of small children. Didama Rogers learned it, so did Lavinia Pepper, and after that it might as well have been printed on the walls for all to read. It was talked over and gossiped about in every household from the lighthouse keeper's family to that of George Was.h.i.+ngton Cash, who lived in the one-room hovel in the woods near the Wellmouth line, and was a person of distinction, in his way, being the sole negro in the county. And whenever it was discussed it was considered a fine thing for both parties concerned. Almost everyone said it was precisely what they expected.

Annabel Daniels and her father had not expected it. They were, however, greatly pleased. In their discussion, which lasted far into the night, Captain Elkanah expressed the opinion that the unexpected denouement was the result of his interview with Eben. He had told the old Come-Outer what would happen to his ward if she persisted in her impudent and audacious plot to entrap a Regular clergyman. She, being discovered, had yielded, perforce, and had accepted Nat as the next best catch.

Annabel was not satisfied with this explanation. Of course, she said, she did not pretend to believe Grace's statement that she had found her uncle unconscious. No doubt the pair had had an interview and all that.

But she believed the minister himself had come to his senses and had dismissed the brazen creature. She did not blame Mr. Ellery so much. He was a young man, with a kind heart, and no doubt the "Van Horne person" had worked upon his sympathies and had taken advantage of his inexperience of feminine wiles.

"I think, pa," she said, "that it's our duty, yours and mine, to treat him just as we always have. He doesn't know that we know, and we will keep the secret. And, as Christians, we should forget and forgive. We'll invite him here as we always have, keep him under our good influence, and be very kind to him, poor innocent. As for Captain Hammond, I'm sorry for him, knowing the kind of wife he is going to have, but no doubt Come-Outers are not particular."

Kyan Pepper was another whom the news of the engagement surprised greatly. When Lavinia told him of it, at the dinner table, he dropped the knife he was holding and the greasy section of fish-ball balanced upon it.

"'Bishy," said Miss Pepper, "what do you s'pose has happened down to the Hammond tavern?"

"Oh, I know that," was the reply. "I heard that long ago; Cap'n Eben's dead."

"'Course he's dead; and I knew you knew it. Land sakes! don't be such a ninny. Why, I told you myself."

"Well, I didn't know but you'd forgot. Anybody's li'ble to forget who they've told things to. Why, I've forgot more things--"

"Yes, there ain't no doubt about that. I've told you a million times, if I have once, to tuck your napkin round your neck when you've got your Sunday clothes on. And there you be this minute without a sign of a napkin."

"Why, Laviny! I MUST have it round my neck. I know I--"

"Don't be so foolis.h.!.+ Think I'm blind? Can't I see you ain't got it? Now where is it?"

Kyan began a futile hunt for the missing napkin, in his lap, on the table, and finally under it.

"I don't understand," he stammered, "where that napkin can be. I'm just as sure I had it and now I'm just as sure I ain't got it. What do you s'pose I done with it?"

"Goodness knows! 'Twouldn't surprise me if you'd et it, you're that absent-minded. Here! what's that stickin' out of your breast pocket?"

Her brother put his hand to the pocket indicated and produced the missing napkin, much crumpled.

"There!" he exclaimed, in a tone of relief. "Now I remember. It must have dropped on the floor and I thought 'twas my handkerchief and picked it up and--"

"What did you think you'd be carryin' a white handkerchief for, on a week day?"

"Well, I had on my Sunday suit and--"

"Yes, and for the dear mercy sakes WHY have you got it on?"

Kyan saw an opportunity for self-justification.

"You TOLD me to put it on," he declared triumphantly. "You said yourself I'd better rig out in my Sunday clothes 'cause we might go to Eben's funeral. You know you did."

"Hear the man! And then, after you've dressed up to go to his funeral, you pretend to believe I'm goin' to tell you he's dead. I never--"

"Well, what IS it, then? He ain't come to life, has he?"

"Grace Van Horne's engaged to be married, that's what it is. Look out!

Oh, you--"

Just here occurred the accident already described. Knife and fish ball descended upon the waistcoat belonging to the "Sunday suit." Lavinia flew for warm water, ammonia, and a cloth, and the soiled waistcoat was industriously scrubbed. The cleansing process was accompanied by a lively tongue las.h.i.+ng, to which Kyan paid little attention.

"Engaged?" he kept repeating. "Gracie Van Horne engaged? Engaged? En--"

"Be still, you poll parrot! Dear! dear! dear! look at them spots. Yes, yes; don't say it again; she's engaged."