The neighborhood was stirring now and Louise had not gone back to bed.  Instead, she dressed as simply as she could until it would be possible to get at her trunks.

While thus engaged she observed the neighborhood as well as she could see it from the windows of her chamber.  Down the Shell Road, in the direction of the sea, there were but two or three houses—­small dwellings in wind-swept yards where beach grass was about all the verdure that would grow.

Across the road from the store, however, and as far as she could see toward Cardhaven, were better homes, some standing in the midst of tilled fields and orchards.  Sandy lanes led to these homesteads from the highway.  She could see the blunt spire of the Mariner’s Chapel.  Yet Cap’n Abe’s house and store stood quite alone, for none of the other dwellings were close to the road.

She set her chamber door ajar and suddenly heard the clash of voices.  The one that seemed nearest to the stair was gruff, but feminine.

“That must be Betty Gallup,” thought Louise.  “It is nearly six.  I’ll go down and interview the lady who Cap’n Abe said ought to sail before the mast.”

The foot of the stairway was in the back entry which itself opened upon the rear porch.  As she came lightly down the stairs Louise saw a squat, square figure standing in the open doorway.  It was topped by a man’s felt hat and was dressed in a loose, shapeless coat and a scant skirt down to the tops of a pair of men’s shoes.

Over the shoulder of this queer looking person—­of whose sex it was hard to be sure—­Louise could see an open letter that was evidently being perused not for the first time.

The hands that held the letter were red and hard and blunt-fingered, but not large.  They did not look feminine, however; not in the least.

The light tap of the girl’s heels as she stepped on the bare floor at the foot of the stairway aroused this person, who turned, revealing a rather grim, weather-beaten face, lit by little sharp brown eyes that proceeded to stare at Louise Grayling with frank curiosity.

“Humph!” ejaculated the woman.

Oh, it was a woman, Louise could now see, although Betty Gallup boasted a pronounced mustache and a voice both deep and hoarse, while she looked every inch the able seaman she was.

“Humph!” she exclaimed again.  “You don’t look much like a pirate, that’s one comfort!”

Louise burst into gay laughter—­she could not help it.

“I see by this letter Cap’n Abe left for me that you’re his niece—­his ha’f sister’s child—­name, Louise Grayling; and that you’ve come to stay a spell.”

“Yes,” the girl rejoined, still dimpling.  “And I know you must be Mrs. Gallup!”

“Bet Gallup.  Yep.  Ain’t much chance of mistaking me,” the woman said, still staring at Louise.  “Humph! you’re pretty ’nough not to need m’lasses to ketch flies.  Why didn’t Cap’n Abe stay to home when you come visiting him?”