“Thankee, sir, thankee,” returned Sailor Ben, looking as guilty as if he had been detected in picking a pocket.

“And I’m very glad to see you, Mr.—­Mr.—­”

“Sailor Ben,” suggested that worthy.

“Mr. Sailor Ben,” added the Captain, smiling.  “Tom, open the door, there’s Kitty with the glasses.”

I opened the door, and Kitty entered the room bringing the things on a waiter, which she was about to set on the table, when suddenly she uttered a loud shriek; the decanter and glasses fell with a crash to the floor, and Kitty, as white as a sheet, was seen flying through the hall.

“It’s his wraith!  It’s his wraith!"’ we heard Kitty shrieking in the kitchen.

My grandfather and I turned with amazement to Sailor Ben.  His eyes were standing out of his head like a lobster’s.

“It’s my own little Irish lass!” shouted the sailor, and he darted into the hall after her.

Even then we scarcely caught the meaning of his words, but when we saw Sailor Ben and Kitty sobbing on each other’s shoulder in the kitchen, we understood it all.

“I begs your honor’s parden, sir,” said Sailor Ben, lifting his tear-stained face above Kitty’s tumbled hair; “I begs your honor’s parden for kicking up a rumpus in the house, but it’s my own little Irish lass as I lost so long ago!”

“Heaven preserve us!” cried the Captain, blowing his nose violently—­a transparent ruse to hide his emotion.

Miss Abigail was in an upper chamber, sweeping; but on hearing the unusual racket below, she scented an accident and came ambling downstairs with a bottle of the infallible hot-drops in her hand.  Nothing but the firmness of my grandfather prevented her from giving Sailor Ben a table-spoonful on the spot.  But when she learned what had come about—­that this was Kitty’s husband, that Kitty Collins wasn’t Kitty Collins now, but Mrs. Benjamin Watson of Nantucket—­the good soul sat down on the meal-chest and sobbed as if—­to quote from Captain Nutter—­as if a husband of her own had turned up!

A happier set of people than we were never met together in a dingy kitchen or anywhere else.  The Captain ordered a fresh decanter of Madeira, and made all hands, excepting myself, drink a cup to the return of “the prodigal sea-son,” as he persisted in calling Sailor Ben.

After the first flush of joy and surprise was over Kitty grew silent and constrained.  Now and then she fixed her eyes thoughtfully on her husband.  Why had he deserted her all these years?  What right had he to look for a welcome from one he had treated so cruelly?  She had been true to him, but had he been true to her?  Sailor Ben must have guessed what was passing in her mind, for presently he took her hand and said—­“Well, lass, it’s a long yarn, but you shall have it all in good time.  It was my hard luck as made us part company, an’ no will of mine, for I loved you dear.”

Kitty brightened up immediately, needing no other assurance of Sailor Ben’s faithfulness.