“I’m sort of ashamed to tell you, Tunis, and that’s a fact,” the old captain said, wagging his head.  “And don’t you ever tell Prudence.”

“I’ll not say a word to Aunt Prue,” promised the captain of the Seamew.

“Yet,” grumbled the old man, “that dratted Queen of Sheby is too much for Prudence.  You see yourself only yesterday how she is like to come to her death because of the mare.”

“I know that you should have somebody living with you, Cap’n Ira,” urged Tunis.  “But what does this mean?”

“I—­I can’t scurcely tell you, Tunis.  I swan!  I was goin’ to murder the old critter.”

“What do you mean?” gasped Tunis in apparent horror.  “Not Aunt Prue?”

“What’s the matter with you?” snapped Cap’n Ira.  “I mean that old mare.  I was going to murder her in cold blood, only the sand slide wrecked my plans.”

“If you had killed her, Aunt Prue would have had hard work to forgive you.  Come on now.  I’ll lead Queenie up to our barn.  Let her stay there for a spell.  I tell you, Cap’n Ira, you and Aunt Prue must have somebody to live with you.”

“Who?”

“Get a girl from the port.”

“Huh!  One o’ them Portygees?  They’re as dirty and useless in the kitchen as their men folks are aboard ship.”

“Oh, they are not all like that!” objected the captain of the Seamew.  “I’ve got a good crew of ’em aboard my schooner.”

“You think so.  Wait till you get in a jam.  And the men ain’t so bad as the gals.  All hussies.”

“I don’t know, then, what you’ll do.”

“I do,” interrupted the old man, hobbling along the hard sand beside Tunis and the horse.  “It’s just like I told Prudence yesterday.  I know just what we’ve got to do whether you or Prue or anybody else knows,” and he was very emphatic.

“Let’s hear your plan, Cap’n,” said Tunis.

“It’s like this,” went on Cap’n Ira.  “Prudence ain’t got but one living relative, a grandniece, that’s kin to her.  That Ida May Bostwick we must have come and live with us, and that’s all there is about it.”

Tunis stared.  He said: 

“Never heard of her.  She doesn’t live anywhere around here, does she?”

“No, no!  Lives to Boston.”

“Boston!”

Why was it Tunis Latham felt that his heart skipped a beat?  Memory of that pale, violet-eyed girl who worked in the restaurant on Scollay Square flashed across his mind like a shooting star.  Indeed, he was so confused that he heard only a little at first of Cap’n Ira’s rambling explanation.  Then he caught: 

“And if you will go to that address—­Prue’s got the street and number—­and see Ida May Bostwick and tell her about us, you’d be doing us a kindness, Tunis.”

“Me?” exclaimed the startled captain of the Seamew.

“Yes, you.  The gal won’t bite you.  You’re going to Boston next week, you say.  Will you do it?”