“Perhaps he can hear us, Shadrach,” suggested his companion, mildly.  “Perhaps he’s here with us now; who can tell?”

“Humph!  Well, if he is then I know he don’t like it.  Marcellus never made any fuss whatever happened, and he wouldn’t make any at his own funeral no more than at anybody else’s.  That wasn’t his way.  Say nothin’ and keep her on the course, that was Marcellus.  I swan I can hardly make it seem possible that he’s gone!”

“Neither can I, Shadrach.  And to think that you and me, his old partners and lifelong chums as you might say, hadn’t seen nor spoken to him for over two years.  It makes me feel bad.  Bad and sort of conscience-struck.”

“I know; so it does me, in a way.  And yet it wasn’t our fault, Zoeth.  You know as well as I do that Marcellus didn’t want to see us.  We was over to see him last and he scarcely said a word while we was there.  You and me did all the talkin’ and he just set and looked at us—­when he wasn’t lookin’ at the floor.  I never saw such a change in a man.  We asked—­yes, by fire, we fairly begged him to come and stay with us for a spell, but he never did.  Now it ain’t no further from Ostable to South Harniss than it is from South Harniss to Ostable.  If he’d wanted to come he could; if he’d wanted to see us he could.  We went to see him, didn’t we; and we had a store and a business to leave.  He ain’t had any business since he give up goin’ to sea.  He—­”

“Sshh!  Shh!” interrupted Mr. Hamilton, mildly, “don’t talk that way, Shadrach.  Don’t find fault with the dead.”

“Find fault!  I ain’t findin’ fault.  I thought as much of Marcellus Hall as any man on earth, and nobody feels worse about his bein’ took than I do.  But I’m just sayin’ what we both know’s a fact.  He didn’t want to see us; he didn’t want to see nobody.  Since his wife died he lived alone in that house, except for a housekeeper and that stepchild, and never went anywhere or had anybody come to see him if he could help it.  A reg’lar hermit—­that’s what he was, a hermit, like Peleg Myrick down to Setuckit P’int.  And when I think what he used to be, smart, lively, able, one of the best skippers and smartest business men afloat or ashore, it don’t seem possible a body could change so.  ’Twas that woman that done it, that woman that trapped him into gettin’ married.”

“Sshh!  Shh!  Shadrach; she’s dead, too.  And, besides, I guess she was a real good woman; everybody said she was.”

“I ain’t sayin’ she wasn’t, am I?  What I say is she hadn’t no business marryin’ a man twenty years older’n she was.”

“But,” mildly, “you said she trapped him.  Now we don’t know—­”

“Zoeth Hamilton, you know she must have trapped him.  You and I agreed that was just what she done.  If she hadn’t trapped him—­set a reg’lar seine for him and hauled him aboard like a school of mackerel—­’tain’t likely he’d have married her or anybody else, is it?  I ain’t married nobody, have I?  And Marcellus was years older’n I be.”