“Keziah,” he commanded.  “Hum—­ha!  Keziah, come in here a minute.”

Keziah came in response to the call, her sewing in her hand.  The renovation of the parsonage had so far progressed that she could now find time for a little sewing, after the dinner dishes were done.

“Keziah,” said the captain pompously, “we expect you to look out for Mr. Ellery in every respect.  The parish committee expects that—­yes.”

“I’ll try,” said Mrs. Coffin shortly.

“Yes.  Well, that’s all.  You can go.  We must be going, too, Mr. Ellery.  Please consider our house at your disposal any time.  Be neighborly—­hum—­ha!—­be neighborly.”

“Yes,” purred Annabel.  “Do come and see us often.  Congenial society is very scarce in Trumet, for me especially.  We can read together.  Are you fond of Moore, Mr. Ellery?  I just dote on him.”

The last “hum—­ha” was partially drowned by the click of the gate.  Keziah closed the dining-room door.

“Mrs. Coffin,” said the minister, “I shan’t trouble the parish committee.  Be sure of that.  I’m perfectly satisfied.”

Keziah sat down in the rocker and her needle moved very briskly for a moment.  Then she said, without looking up: 

“That’s good.  I own up I like to hear you say it.  And I am glad there are some things I do like about this new place of mine.  Because—­well, because there’s likely to be others that I shan’t like at all.”

On Friday evening the minister conducted his first prayer meeting.  Before it, and afterwards, he heard a good deal concerning the Come-Outers.  He learned that Captain Eben Hammond had preached against him in the chapel on Sunday.  Most of his own parishioners seemed to think it a good joke.

“Stir ’em up, Mr. Ellery,” counseled Lavinia Pepper.  “Stir ’em up!  Don’t be afraid to answer em from the pulpit and set ’em where they belong.  Ignorant, bigoted things!”

Others gave similar counsel.  The result was that the young man became still more interested in these people who seemed to hate him and all he stood for so profoundly.  He wished he might hear their side of the case and judge it for himself.  It may as well be acknowledged now that John Ellery had a habit of wishing to judge for himself.  This is not always a politic habit in a country minister.

The sun of the following Thursday morning rose behind a curtain of fog as dense as that of the day upon which Ellery arrived.  A flat calm in the forenoon, the wind changed about three o’clock and, beginning with a sharp and sudden squall from the northwest, blew hard and steady.  Yet the fog still cloaked everything and refused to be blown away.

“There’s rain astern,” observed Captain Zeb, with the air of authority which belongs to seafaring men when speaking of the weather.  “We’ll get a hard, driving rain afore mornin’, you see.  Then, if she still holds from the northwest’ard, it’ll fair off fine.”