“Land sakes, yes!  I’ll promise, if you want me to.  I’m a widower man, so there’ll be nobody to coax it out of me.  I guess you’re right, cal’late you be.  What folks don’t know they can’t lie about, can they? and that’s good for your business—­meanin’ nothin’ disreverent.  I’ll promise, Mr. Ellery; I’ll swear to it.  Now come on back to the shanty.  The doctor wants you.”

The next day the body of “Murphy,” foremast hand on the San Jose, was buried in the corner of the Regular graveyard, near those who were drowned in the wreck of that winter.  There was no funeral, of course.  The minister said a prayer at the shanty, and that was all.  Ebenezer drove the wagon which was used as hearse for the occasion, and filled in the grave himself.  So great was the fear of the terrible smallpox that the sexton would not perform even that service for its victim.

Capen remained at the shanty another week.  Then, as the minister showed no symptoms of having contracted the disease and insisted that he needed no companion, Ebenezer departed to take up his fishing once more.  The old man was provided with a new suit of clothes, those he had worn being burned, and having been, to his huge disgust, fumigated until, as he said, he couldn’t smell himself without thinking of a match box, went away.  The room which the dead sailor had occupied was emptied and sealed tight.  The San Jose was to stay at her anchorage a while longer.  Then, when all danger was past, she was to be towed to Boston and sold at auction for the benefit of the heirs of her dead skipper and owner.

Ellery himself was most urgent in the decision that he should not go back to the parsonage and his church just yet.  Better to wait until he was sure, he said, and Dr. Parker agreed.  “I’d be willing to bet that you are all right,” declared the latter, “but I know Trumet, and if I should let you go and you did develop even the tail end of a case of varioloid—­well, ’twould be the everlasting climax for you and me in this county.”

Staying alone was not unpleasant, in a way.  The “dead line” still remained, of course, and callers did not attempt to pass it, but they came more frequently and held lengthy conversations at a respectful distance.  Ellery did his own cooking, what little there was to do, but so many good things were pushed under the ropes that he was in a fair way to develop weight and indigestion.  Captain Zeb Mayo drove down at least twice a week and usually brought Mrs. Coffin with him.  From them and from the doctor the prisoner learned the village news.  Once Captain Elkanah and Annabel came, and the young lady’s gushing praise of the minister’s “heroism” made its recipient almost sorry he had ever heard of the San Jose.

Dr. Parker told him of Grace Van Horne’s return to the village.  She had come back, so the doctor said, the day before, and was to live at the tavern for a while, at least.  Yes, he guessed even she had given up hope of Captain Nat now.