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Mrs. Lunn sat down to her belated and solitary supper, and made an excellent meal. “‘T will be pleasant for me to have company again,” she murmured. “I think ’tis better for a person.” She had a way, as many lonely women have, of talking to herself, just for the sake of hearing the sound of a voice. “I guess Mr. Farley’s situation is goin’ to please him, too,” she added; “I feel as if I’d done it all for the best.” Mrs. Lunn rose, and crossed the room with a youthful step, and stood before the little looking-glass, holding her head this way and that, like a girl; then she turned, still blushing a little, and put away the tea-things. “‘T is about time now for the Cap’n to go down town after his newspaper,” she whispered; and at that moment the Captain opened the door.

One day, the next spring, Captain Crowe, who had always honored the heroine of this tale for saving his self-respect, and allowing him to affirm with solemn asseverations that though she was a prize for any man, he never had really offered himself to Mrs. Lunn–Captain Crowe and Captain Witherspoon were sitting at the head of Long Wharf together in the sunshine.

“I’ve been a very fortunate man, sir,” said the little captain boldly. “My own property has looked up a good deal since I was married, what with that piece of land I sold for the new hotel, and other things that have come to bear–this wharf property, for instance. I shall have to lay out considerable for new plank, but I’m able to do it.”

“Yes, sir; things have started up in Longport a good deal this spring; but it never is goin’ to be what it was once,” answered Captain Crowe, who had grown as much older as his friend had grown younger since the autumn, though he always looked best out of doors. “Don’t you think, Captain Witherspoon,” he said, changing his tone, “that you ought to consider the matter of re-shinglin’ your house? You’ll have to engage men now, anyway, to do your plankin’. I know of some extra cedar shingles that were landed yesterday from somewheres up river. Or was Mis’ Witherspoon a little over-anxious last season?”

“I think, with proper attention, sir,” said the Captain sedately, “that the present shingles may last us a number of years yet.”