I had a good deal of trouble to find Miss Talbot’s house, but find it I did; and the first thing she gave me was a scolding for coming, thinking I was Lurindy, and her tongue wasn’t much cooler when she found I wasn’t; and then finally she said, as long as I was there, I might stay; and I went right up to see John, and a sight he was!

It was about three months I stayed and took the greater part of the care of him.  Sometimes in the midnight, when he was quite beside himself, and dreaming out loud, it was about as good as a story-book to hear him.  He told me of some great Indian cities where there were men in white, with skins swarthier than old red Guinea gold, and with great shawls all wrought in palm-leaves of gold and crimson bound on their heads, who could sink a ship with their lacs of rupees; and of islands where the shores came down to the water’s edge and unrolled like a green ribbon, and brooks came sparkling down behind them, and great trees hung above like banners, and beautiful women came off on rafts and skiffs loaded with fruit,—­the islands set like jewels on the back of the sea, and the sky covered them with light and hung above them bluer than the hangings of the Tabernacle, and they sent long rivers of spice out on the air to entice the sailor back,—­islands where night never came.  Sometimes, when he talked on so, I remembered that I’d felt rather touched up when I found that Lurindy’d had a sweetheart all this time, and mother knew it, and they’d never told me, and I wondered how it happened.  Now it came across me, that, quite a number of years before, Lurindy had gone to Salem and worked in the mills.  She didn’t stay long, because it didn’t agree with her,—­the neighbors said, because she was lazy.  Lurindy lazy, indeed!  There a’n’t one of us knows how to spell the first syllable of that word.  But that’s where she must have got acquainted with John Talbot.  He’d been up at our place, too; but I was over to Aunt Emeline’s, it seems.  But one night, about this time, I thought he was dying, he’d got so very low; and I thought how dreadful it was for Lurindy never to see him again, and how it was all my selfish fault, and how maybe he wouldn’t ‘a’ died, if he’d had her to have taken care of him; and I suppose no convicted felon ever endured more remorse than I did, sitting and watching that dying man all that long and lonely night.  But with the morning he was better,—­they always are a great deal worse when they are getting well from it; he laughed when the doctor came, and said he guessed he’d weathered that gale; and by-and-by he got well.

He meant to have gone up and seen Lurindy, after all, but his ship was ready for sea just as he was; and I thought it was about as well, for he wasn’t looking his prettiest.  And so he declared I was the neatest little trimmer that ever trod water, and he believed he should know a Ruggles by the cut of her jib, (I wonder if he’d have known Aunt Mimy,) and if ever he went master, he’d name his ship for me, and call it the Sister of Charity.  And he kissed me on both cheeks, and looked serious enough when he sent his love to Lurindy, and went away; and no sooner was he gone than Miss Talbot said I’d better have the doctor myself; and I didn’t sit up again for about three weeks.