“I swan!  This is comfort, and no mistake,” chuckled the old man, rubbing his chin reflectively.  “You’re going to be a blessing in this house, Ida May.”

“I hope you’ll always say so, Uncle Ira,” returned the girl, smiling at him.

“I cal’late.  Now I’ll get washed, but that derned shavin’.”

“You sit down in that rocker and I’ll shave you,” she said briskly.  “Oh, I can do it!  I shaved my own father when he was sick last—­”

She stopped, turned away, and fell silent.  It was the first time she had spoken of either of her parents, but Cap’n Ira did not notice her sudden confusion.  He prepared for the ordeal, making his own lather and opening the razor.

“I can’t strop it, Ida May,” he groaned.  “That’s one of the things that’s beyont my powers.”

She came to him with a clean towel which she tucked carefully in at the neckband of his shirt.  Practically she lathered his face and rubbed the lather into the stubble with brisk hands.  He grunted ecstatically, lying back in the chair in solid comfort.  He eyed her manipulation of the razor on the strop with approval.

For the first time in many a morning he was shaved neatly and with dispatch.  When Prudence came feebly into the room, he hailed her delightedly.

“You’ve lost your job, old woman!” he cried.

“And ain’t there a thing for me to do?” queried Prudence softly, yet smiling.

“Just sit down at the table, auntie,” said the girl.  “The coffee is made.  How long do you want your eggs boiled?  The water is bubbling.”

“Eggs!” exclaimed Cap’n Ira.  “I thought them hens of Prue’s had give up layin’ altogether.”

“I found some stolen nests in the barn,” returned Ida May.  “They have been playing tricks on you.”

It was near noon when Ida May from an upper window saw the Seamew beating out of the cove on her return trip to Boston.  She watched the schooner as long as the white sails were visible.  But her heart was not wholly with the beautiful schooner.  A great content filled her soul.  Afterward she bustled about, straightening up the house, her cheerful smile always ready when the old folks spoke.  They watched her with such a feeling of thankfulness as they could not openly express.

After dinner she started on the ironing and proved herself to be as capable in that line as in everything else.

“Maybe she’s been a shopgirl, Ira,” Prudence observed in private to her husband; “but Sarah Honey didn’t neglect teaching her how to keep any man’s home neat and proper.”

“Sh!” admonished Cap’n Ira.  “Don’t put no such ideas in the gal’s head.”

“What ideas?” the old woman asked wonderingly.

His eyes twinkled and he rewarded himself with a generous pinch of snuff before repeating his bon mot: 

“If you don’t tell her she’ll make some man a good wife, maybe she won’t never know it!  Looker out, Prudence! A-choon!”