It may have been a comfort to her, but it was not to Caleb.  He growled a reply and turned on his heel.  The churchgoers along the main road received scanty acknowledgment of their greetings.

“Ain’t you comin’ to meetin’?” asked Abbie Larkin.

“Naw,” snarled Caleb, “I ain’t.”

“Why not?  And it’s such a lovely day, too.”

“Ugh!”

“Why ain’t you comin’ to meetin’, Mr. Hammond?”

“’Cause I don’t feel like it, that’s why.”

“I want to know!  Well, you don’t seem to be in a pious frame of mind, that’s a fact.  Better come; you may not feel like church, but I should say you needed it, if ever anybody did.”

Caleb did not deign a reply.  He stalked across the road and took the path to the shore.

As he came opposite the Parker cottage he saw Hannah Parker at the window.  He nodded and his nod was returned.  Hannah’s experience was as gloomy as his own.  She did not look happy and somehow the idea that she was not happy pleased him; Abbie Larkin had been altogether too happy; it grated on him.  He was miserable and he wanted company of his own kind.  He stopped, hesitated, and then turned in at the Parker gate.

Hannah opened the door.

“Good mornin’, Caleb,” she said.  “Come in, won’t you?  It looks sort of chilly outdoor.”

This was a kindred spirit.  Mr. Hammond entered the Parker sitting-room.  Hannah motioned toward a chair and he sat down.

“Mornin’, Hannah,” said Caleb. “’Tis chilly.  It’ll be a mercy if we don’t catch our deaths, dressed the way some of us be.  How’s things with you?”

Miss Parker shook her head.  “Oh, I don’t know, Caleb,” she answered.  “They ain’t all they might be, I’m afraid.”

“What’s the matter?  Ain’t you feelin’ up to the mark?”

“Oh, yes—­yes; I’m feeling well enough in body.  I ain’t sick, if that’s what you mean.  I’m kind of blue and—­and lonesome, that’s all.  I try to bear up under my burdens, but I get compressed in spirit sometimes, I can’t help it.  Ah, hum a day!”

She sighed and Mr. Hammond sighed also.

“You ain’t the only one,” he said.  “I’m bluer’n a whetstone myself, this mornin’.”

“What’s the trouble?”

“Trouble?  Trouble enough!  Somethin’ happened this mornin’ that riled me all up.  It—­” he paused, remembering that the cause of the “rilin’” was somewhat personal, not to say delicate.  “Well—­well, never mind what it was,” he added. “‘Twas mighty aggravatin’, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

Hannah sighed again.  “Ah, hum!” she observed.  “There’s aggravations enough in this life.  And they generally come on account of somebody else, too.  There’s times when I wish I didn’t have any flesh and blood.”

“Hey?  Good land!  No flesh and blood!  What do you want—­bones?”

“Oh, I don’t mean that.  I wish I didn’t have any—­any relations of my own flesh and blood.”