He headed for the study, but before he crossed the threshold of the kitchen Ellery and his visitor came out into the dining room.  Captain Elkanah’s face was flushed, and he fidgeted.  The minister looked determined but calm.

“Ahoy there, Elkanah!” hailed Zebedee cheerfully. “‘Mornin’, Mr. Ellery.  Been havin’ officers’ counsel, have you?”

“Good morning, Captain Mayo,” said the minister.

“‘Mornin’, Zebedee,” grunted Elkanah.  “I have—­hum—­ha!—­been discussing the regrettable affair of last night with Mr. Ellery.  I have tried—­hum—­ha! to show him that respectable people of our society don’t associate with Come-Outers, and that for a Regular minister to go to their meetings is something neither the congregation nor the parish committee approves of.  No—­er—­hum—­ha! no!”

“And I explained to Captain Daniels,” observed the minister, “that I went there for what seemed to me good reasons, and, as they did seem to me good at the time, I’m not ashamed of having gone.  It was an honest mistake on my part and I may make more.”

“But the society—­” began Elkanah.  Captain Zeb interrupted him.

“Don’t worry about the society, Mr. Ellery,” he said with emphasis.  “Nor about the parish committee, either.  Great fishhooks! the most of us are tickled to death over what you said to Eben Hammond.  We think it’s a mighty good joke.  You didn’t know, of course, and what you did was done innocent.  He! he! he!  Did you lay him out, hey?”

“Zebedee,” began Captain Daniels, “I must say I can’t see anything to laugh at.”

“You never could, Elkanah.  I remember that time when you and me and some of the fellers home from sea went out sailin’ and the boom knocked you overboard with your Sunday clothes on.  Lordy, how the rest of us did holler! but you never cracked a smile.  If you’d seen yourself when we hauled you in! whiskers runnin’ salt water; beaver hat lookin’ like a drownded kitten—­”

“There!  There!  Never mind that.  I think you’ll find a good many of the society feel as I do, shocked and—­hum—­ha!—­sorry.  I’m surprised they haven’t been here to say so.”

“I expected them,” remarked the minister.

“So did I,” chimed in Captain Zeb.  “But I cal’late to know why they ain’t been.  They’re all too busy crowin’ over the way Nat Hammond fetched the packet home last night.  What?  You ain’t heard?  Great fishhooks! it’s the best thing ever—­”

“I’ve heard about it,” snapped Elkanah impatiently.  “Mr. Ellery, I’m glad you realize that your action was a mistake and I will take pains to have that immejitly made plain to—­”

“You ain’t heard, Keziah, have you?” broke in Zebedee.  “Nor you, Mr. Ellery?  Well, I must tell you.  Here’s where I gain a lap on Didama Rogers.  Seems the Deborah S.—­that’s the packet’s name, Mr. Ellery—­she hauled out of Boston night afore last on the ebb, with a fair wind and sky clear as a bell.  But they hadn’t much more’n got outside of Minot’s ’fore the fog shut down, thicker’n gruel for a sick rich man.  The wind held till ‘long toward mornin’; then she flattened to a dead calm.  ’Bije Perry, the mate, he spun the yarn to me, and he said ’twas thick and flat as ever he see and kept gettin’ no better fast.