“I know.  Thank you very much for all your kindness, and for your promise.”

He would have liked to say much more, but he could not, under the circumstances.  He stammered a good-by and, with a question concerning Mrs. Coffin’s whereabouts, went out to join Captain Zeb.

“Well?” queried the latter anxiously.  “How is it?  What’s up?  What’s the next tack?”

“We’ll go to the parsonage,” was the gloomy answer.  “If anybody can see a glimmer in this cussed muddle Keziah Coffin can.”

Keziah was on her knees in her room, beside a trunk, the same trunk she had been packing the day of the minister’s arrival in Trumet.  She was working frantically, sorting garments from a pile, rejecting some and keeping others.  She heard voices on the walk below and went down to admit the callers.

“What’s the matter, Keziah?” asked Dr. Parker sharply, after a look at her face.  “You look as if you’d been through the war.  Humph!  I suppose you’ve heard the news?”

Keziah brushed back the hair from her forehead.  “Yes,” she answered slowly.  “I’ve heard it.”

“Well, it’s great news, and if it wasn’t for—­if things weren’t as they are, I’d be crowing hallelujahs this minute.  Trumet has got a good man safe and sound again, and the Lord knows it needs all of that kind it can get.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.  But there’s the other matter.  I’ve been to see Grace.  She didn’t say so, but it was easy enough to see; the man she promised to marry and thought was dead, is alive.  She’s a girl of her word—­she promised him and she promised her dying uncle—­and she’ll marry him.  And then what will become of John Ellery?  He’ll go downhill so fast that a ship’s anchor wouldn’t hold him.  If he doesn’t die I’ll have to send him away somewhere, and the Regular church will lose the minister we’ve fought so hard for.”

“Yes,” concurred Zebedee, “and them blasted Danielses’ll run the shebang and the rest of us’ll have to sing small, I tell you.”

“So we’ve come to you, Keziah,” went on the doctor.  “Do you see any salvation?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You do?  Where?”

“In Nat Hammond.  If he knows Grace doesn’t want to marry him, do you suppose he’ll hold her to her promise?”

“I don’t know.  I’m not so sure.  Men don’t give up girls like that so easy.  I wouldn’t—­by George, I wouldn’t!  And she won’t tell him the whole truth, I’m afraid.  She’ll pretend to be glad—­hang it! she is glad—­to have him home again and—­”

“Of course she’s glad.  Ain’t we all glad and happy and thankful?  We ought to be.  But”—­she hesitated—­“doctor, you leave this to me.  So far as John and Grace are concerned you needn’t worry.  I’ll take it on myself to see that they have each other, as the Almighty meant ’em to.  Leave it to me.  Just leave it to me.  I know I can do it.”

She would not say more, nor tell on what grounds she based her optimism.  She would go back to the shanty that evening, she said, and stay until the following afternoon.  Grace would undoubtedly go to the old tavern to prepare for the homecoming.  Let Mrs. Higgins take her place as nurse.