“There was old Hip Huff, who went by freight
    To Newry Corner, in this State. 
    Put him in a crate to git him there,
    With a two-cent stamp to pay his fare. 
      Rowl de fang-go—­old Smith’s mare.”

The Cap’n hopped into the house and set his foot again on the cricket that his wife brought dutifully.  He gritted his teeth as long as the voice of the singer came to his ears.

“I wish you hadn’t,” mourned his wife; “he’s as good-meaning a man as there is in town, even if he is a little light-headed.  He’s always given me good trades, and his st’ilyards don’t cheat on rags.”

The old mariner was evidently preparing a stinging reply, but a knock on the door interrupted him.  Louada Murilla admitted three men, who marched in solemnly, one behind the other, all beaming with great cordiality.  Cap’n Sproul, not yet out of the doldrums, simply glowered and grunted as they took seats.

Then one of them, whom Sproul knew as Ludelphus Murray, the local blacksmith, arose and cleared his throat with ominous formality.

“It’s best to hammer while the iron is hot, Cap’n,” he said.  “It won’t take many clips o’ the tongue to tell you what we’ve come for.  We three here are a committee from the Smyrna Ancient and Honer’ble Firemen’s Association to notify you that at a meetin’ last ev’nin’ you was unanimously elected a member of that organization, and—­”

“Oh, Aaron!” cried Louada Murilla, ecstatically.  “How glad I am this honor has been given to you!  My own father belonged.”

“And,” continued Murray, with a satisfied smile, and throwing back his shoulders as one who brings great tidings, “it has been realized for a long time that there ain’t been the discipline in the association that there ought to be.  We have now among us in our midst one who has commanded men and understands how to command men; one who has sailed the ragin’ deep in times of danger, and—­and, well, a man that understands how to go ahead and take the lead in tittlish times.  So the association”—­he took a long breath—­“has elected you foreman, and I hereby hand you notice of the same and the book of rules.”

The Cap’n scowled and put his hand behind the rocking-chair in which he was seated.

“Not by a—­” he began, but Murray went on with cheerful explanation.

“I want to say to you that this association is over a hundred years old, and our hand tub, the ‘Hecla,’ is ninety-seven years old, and has took more prizes squirtin’ at musters than any other tub in the State.  We ain’t had many fires ever in Smyrna, but the Ancients take the leadin’ rank in all social events, and our dances and banquets are patronized by the best.”

“It’s an awful big honor, Aaron,” gasped his wife.  She turned to the committee.  “The Cap’n hasn’t been feelin’ well, gentlemen, and this honor has kind of overcome him.  But I know he appreciates it.  My own father was foreman once, and it’s a wonderful thing to think that my husband is now.”