He laughed uproariously.  Ellery laughed in sympathy.

“However, I wa’n’t worryin’ about hats, just then.  All I wanted to do was stand still, like a frozen image, and stare at her.  You see, John, I hadn’t laid eyes on a friend, one of the real homemade kind, for more days than I wanted to count; and here was one of ’em, one of the best, passed out to me unexpected and ahead of time, like a surprise party present.  So I just pumped her hand up and down and stared.  I didn’t have any exclusive mortgage on the starin’ by no means, for the depot master and a dozen or so loafers was lookin’ at us with their mouths wide open.

“I guess she noticed it, for she says, ’Don’t stay here, Nat.  Come in the waitin’ room or somewheres where we can talk.’

“So into the waitin’ room we went and come to anchor on the settee.  Six or eight of the loafers settled themselves handy to the door, so’s they could peek in occasionally.  I remember I told one of them not to stretch his neck that way ’cause he might never get it back into shape again and in the gunnin’ season that would be dangerous.  ’Some nearsighted feller might take you for a goose,’ I says.  Ho! ho!

“And then, John, we had our talk.  Seems she left Trumet Wednesday afternoon.  Got the livery stable man to drive her as fur as Bayport, hired another team there and come on to Sandwich.  Stayed overnight there and took the mornin’ train which got to Cohasset Narrows just ahead of the one I was comin’ on.  She’d been so afraid of bein’ late, she said.  She must see me afore I got to Trumet.

“Well, she saw me and told me the whole yarn about you and Grace.  She tried to break it to me gently, so I wouldn’t feel too bad.  She knew it would be a shock to me, she said.  It was a shock, in a way, but as for feelin’ bad, I didn’t.  I think the world of Grace.  I’d do anything she wanted me to do; but most the way down on the train—­yes, and long afore that—­I’d been dreadin’ my comin’ home on one account.  I dreaded tellin’ her that, unless she was real set on it, she’d better not marry me.

“You see, John, I’ve thought a lot sence I’ve been away.  Had consider’ble time to do it in.  And the more I thought the less that promise to dad seemed right.  I’d have bet my sou-wester Gracie never cared for me in the way a girl ought to care for a chap she’s goin’ to ship as pilot for the rest of her days.  And, as for me—­well, I—­I had my reasons for not wantin’ to marry her.”

He paused again, sighed, started to speak, and then sat silent, looking out of the window.  Ellery laid a hand on his knee.

“Nat,” said the minister, “you saved my life once, do you remember that?  I do, if you don’t.”

“Saved your life?  What are you talkin’ about?  Oh! that time on the flats?  That wasn’t savin’ your life, ‘twas savin’ your clothes from gettin’ a wettin’.”

“No, it was more than that.  And now I guess you’ve saved it again, you and Grace between you.  Yes, and Aunt Keziah.  Bless her! to think of her going way up there to meet you and help us!”