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“But next day there was an awful scandal goin’ in the parish, an’ Mari’ Harris reproached my mother to her face, an’ I never wanted to see her since, but I’ve had to a good many times. I said Mis’ Tolland didn’t intend no impropriety, — I reminded her of David’s dancin’ before the Lord; but she said such a man as David never would have thought o’ dancin’ right there in the Orthodox vestry, and she felt I spoke with irreverence.

“And next sunday Mis’ Tolland come walkin’ into our meeting, but I must say she acted like a cat in a strange garret, and went right out down the aisle with her head in air, from the pew Deacon Caplin had showed her into.’Twas just in the beginning of the long prayer. I wish she’d stayed through, whatever her reasons were. Whether she’d expected somethin’ different, or misunderstood some o’ the pastor’s remarks, or what ’twas, I don’t really feel able to explain, but she kind o’ declared war, at least folks thought so, an’ war ’twas from that time. I see she was cryin’, or had been, as she passed by me; perhaps bein’ in meetin’ was what had power to make her feel homesick and strange.

“Cap’n John Tolland was away fittin’ out; that next week he come home to see her and say farewell. He was lost with his ship in the Straits of Malacca, and she lived there alone in the old house a few months longer till she died. He left her well off; ’twas said he hid his money about the house and she knew where ’twas. Oh, I expect you’ve heard that story told over an’ over twenty times, since you’ve been here at the Landin’?”

“Never one word,” I insisted.

“It was a good while ago,” explained Mrs. Todd, with reassurance.”Yes, it all happened a great while ago.”

III

At this moment, with a sudden flaw of the wind, some wet twigs outside blew against the window panes and made a noise like a distressed creature trying to get in. I started with sudden fear, and so did the cat, but Mrs. Todd knitted away and did not even look over her shoulder.

“She was a good-looking woman; yes, I always thought Mis’ Tolland was good-looking, though she had, as was reasonable, a sort of foreign cast, and she spoke very broken English, no better than a child. She was always at work about her house, or settin’ at a front window with her sewing; she was a beautiful hand to embroider. Sometimes, summer evenings, when the windows was open, she’d set an’ drum on her guitar, but I don’t know as I ever heard her sing but once after the cap’n went away. She appeared very happy about havin’ him, and took on dreadful at partin’ when he was down here on the wharf, going back to Portland by boat to take ship for that last v’y’ge. He acted kind of ashamed, Cap’n John did; folks about here ain’t so much accustomed to show their feelings. The whistle had blown an’ they was waitin’ for him to get aboard, an’ he was put to it to know what to do and treated her very affectionate in spite of all impatience; but mother happened to be there and she went an’ spoke, and I remember what a comfort she seemed to be. Mis’ Tolland clung to her then, and she wouldn’t give a glance after the boat when it had started, though the captain was very eager a-wavin’ to her. She wanted mother to come home with her an’ wouldn’t let go her hand, and mother had just come in to stop all night with me an’ had plenty o’ time ashore, which didn’t always happen, so they walked off together, an’ ’twas some considerable time before she got back.