“I bet ’twas that Tunis Latham told him you was here,” continued John-Ed.  “Anyway, don’t blame me.  All I done was to help him down the path.”

He disappeared.  Sheila stepped to the door.  Cap’n Ira was laboring over the sands toward the cabin, leaning on his cane, his coat flapping in the wind and his cap screwed on so tightly that a hurricane could not possibly have blown it away.

But in addition and aside from the buffeting he had suffered from the wind, the old man looked much less trim and taut than Sheila had ever before seen him.  He had not been shaved for at least three days; a button hung by a thread upon his coat; there was a coffee stain on the bosom of his shirt.

He looked so miserable, and so faint, and so buffeted about, that the girl cried out, running from the door of the cabin to meet him.  The sweat of his hard effort stood on his brow, and he panted for breath.

“I swan!  Ida May—­er—­well, whoever you be, gal, let me set down!  I’m near spent, and that’s a fact.”

“Oh, Cap’n Ball, you should not have done this!” cried the girl, letting him lean upon her and aiding him as rapidly as possible to the cabin door.  “You should not have done this.  You—­you can do nothing for me.  You can do no good by coming here.”

“Humph!  P’r’aps not.  Mebbe you’re right.  Let me set down on that box, gal,” he muttered.

He eased himself down upon the rough seat against the wall.  He removed the cap with an effort and took his huge handkerchief from its crown.  He mopped his brow and face and finally heaved a huge sigh.

“I swan!  That was a pull,” he said.  “So you’re settled here.  Gone to housekeeping on your own hook, have ye?” he said.

“Just for a little while, Cap’n Ira.  Only—­only until I can get away.  I—­I have been expecting some money—­payment of one of my father’s old bills.”

She slit the envelope of the letter little John-Ed had just brought her.  Inside was a pale-blue slip—­a money order.

“Yes,” she said.  “I can get away now.  I must go somewhere to earn my living, and as far away from here as I can get.”

“So you think on traveling, do you?” said the old man.  “You ain’t content with Big Wreck Cove and the Head?”

“Oh, Cap’n Ira!” she cried.  “You know I can’t stay here.  Winter is coming.  Besides, the people here—­”

“Ain’t none of ’em asked ye to come an’ live with them?”

“Cap’n Ball!”

“Ain’t ye seen Tunis?”

The girl hid her face from him.  She put her hands over her eyes.  Her shoulders shook with her sobbing.  Cap’n Ira took a reflective pinch of snuff.

“I cal’late,” he said, after wiping his eyes, “that it ain’t Tunis’ fault that you are going away any more than it is mine and Prudence’s.  You just made up your mind to go.”

“Cap’n Ball!” she exclaimed faintly, and again raised her eyes to his.  “Can—­can I help it? Now?”