Mr. Ellery laughed.

“Yes, one or two, between times,” he admitted.

“I shan’t die of surprise.  Did you tell him who you was?”

“No-o, to be honest, I didn’t.  He was so very anxious to find out, that—­well, I dodged.  I think he believed I was going to visit Captain Daniels.”

“Good enough!  If I was governor of this state I wouldn’t send any Thanksgivin’ proclamations down this way.  I’d just write Em Peters and Didama Rogers and a couple more like them and save myself the trouble.  They’d have all I wanted to proclaim spread from one end of the county to the other in less’n a day, and a peck or two of extrys pitched in for good measure.  I’m awful glad you didn’t tell Emulous you was the minister.  You see, Trumet’s Trumet, and, considerin’ everything, maybe it’s just as well nobody knows about your bein’ shut up in that study.  Not but what ’twas all right, you know, but—­”

“I understand.  I’m not proud of it.  Still, some one may have seen me come here.”

“No, no, they didn’t.  This fog is as thick as Injun-meal puddin’.  Nobody saw you.”

“Well,” with some hesitation, “the young lady who was here with you—­”

“Oh, Grace Van Horne!  She’s all right.  She won’t tell.  She ain’t that kind.”

“Van Horne?  That doesn’t sound like a New England name.”

“’Tisn’t.  Her folks come from Jersey somewheres.  But she was adopted by old Cap’n Hammond, who keeps the tavern down on the bay shore by the packet wharf, and she’s lived in Trumet since she was six years old.  Her father was Teunis Van Horne, and he was mate on Cap’n Eben’s coastin’ schooner and was drowned off Hatteras.  Eben was saved just by the skin of his teeth and got a broken hip and religion while it happened.  His hip’s better except that he’s some lame; but his religion’s been more and more feverish ever since.  He’s one of the head Come-Outers, and built their chapel with his own money.  You mustn’t think I’m speakin’ lightly of religion, nor of Cap’n Eben, either.  He’s a dear good soul as ever was, but he is the narrowest kind of Come-Outer.  His creed is just about as wide as the chapel door, and that’s as narrow as the way leadin’ to salvation; it is the way, too, so the Come-Outers think.”

“What are Come-Outers?  Some new sect?”

“Sakes alive!  Haven’t you heard of Come-Outers?  Cat’s foot!  Well, you’ll hear of ’em often enough from now on.  They’re folks who used to go to our church, the Regular, but left because the services was too worldly, with organs and choir singin’, and the road to paradise too easy.  No need for me to tell you any more.  You’ll learn.”