She pulled the door open and was on the step; but Mrs. Coffin did not intend to let her go in just that way.

“Laviny Pepper,” she declared, her eyes snapping, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, but if you dare to mean that I want any of your money, or your brother’s money, you’re mistaken—­’cause I don’t.  And I don’t want your brother either—­Lord help him, poor thing!  And I tell you right now that there’s nobody that does; though some kind-hearted folks have said ’twould be a Christian act to poison him, so’s to put him out of his misery.  There!  Good mornin’ to you.”

She slammed the door.  Lavinia was speechless.  As for her brother, but one remark of his reached Grace, who was watching from the window.

“Laviny,” pleaded Kyan, “just let me explain.”

At nine o’clock that night he was still “explaining.”

Keziah turned from the door she had closed behind her visitor.

“Well!” she ejaculated.  “Well!”

Her friend did not look at her.  She was still gazing out of the window. 
Occasionally she seemed to choke.

Keziah eyed her suspiciously.

“Humph!” she mused. “’Twas funny, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, dreadfully!” was the hurried answer.

“Yes.  Seems to me you took an awful long time findin’ that hammer.”

“It was away back in the drawer.  I didn’t see it at first.”

“Hum!  Grace Van Horne, if I thought you heard what that—­that thing said to me, I’d—­I’d—­Good land of mercy! somebody else is comin’.”

Steps, measured, dignified steps, sounded on the walk.  From without came a “Hum—­ha!” a portentous combination of cough and grunt.  Grace dodged back from the window and hastily began donning her hat and jacket.

“It’s Cap’n Elkanah,” she whispered.  “I must go.  This seems to be your busy morning, Aunt Keziah.  I”—­here she choked again—­“really, I didn’t know you were so popular.”

Keziah opened the door.  Captain Elkanah Daniels, prosperous, pompous, and unbending, crossed the threshold.  Richest man in the village, retired shipowner, pillar of the Regular church and leading member of its parish committee, Captain Elkanah looked the part.  He removed his hat, cleared his throat behind his black stock, and spoke with impressive deliberation.

“Good morning, Keziah.  Ah—­er—­morning, Grace.”  Even in the tone given to a perfunctory salutation like this, the captain differentiated between Regular and Come-Outer.  “Keziah, I—­hum, ha!—­rather expected to find you alone.”

“I was just going, Cap’n Daniels,” explained the girl.  The captain bowed and continued.

“Keziah,” he said, “Keziah, I came to see you on a somewhat important matter.  I have a proposal I wish to make you.”

He must have been surprised at the effect of his words.  Keziah’s face was a picture, a crimson picture of paralyzed amazement.  As for Miss Van Horne, that young lady gave vent to what her friend described afterwards as a “squeal,” and bolted out of the door and into the grateful seclusion of the fog.