“I don’t know what to think.  Heman’s been writin’ her pretty reg’lar, I know that, ’cause Chris Badger told me so a week after she’d gone.  I don’t know, Thankful; one thing’s sartin, Heman’s kept his engagement mighty quiet.  How Eben learned of it I don’t know, but nobody in East Wellmouth knows, for I’ve been soundin’ ever since I struck here.”

Thankful was greatly troubled.  “I hope it ain’t true,” she cried.  “I suppose he’s all right, but—­but I didn’t want Emily to marry him.”

“Neither did I. Perhaps she ain’t goin’ to.  Perhaps it’s just a round-the-stove lie, like a shipload of others that’s set afloat every day.  But, from somethin’ John Kendrick said to me on that platform I knew he heard what Eben said.”

“How do you know?”

“’Cause he as much as told me so.  ‘Is it true?’ says he.

“‘I don’t know,’ says I.  ’First I’d heard of it, if ‘tis.’

“He just nodded his head and seemed to be thinkin’.  When he did speak ’twas more to himself than to me.  ‘Well,’ says he, ’then that settles it.  I can do it now with a clear conscience.’

“‘Do what?’ I asked him.

“‘Oh, nothin’,’ he says.  ‘Cap’n Obed, are you goin’ to be busy all day tomorrow?  I know it’s Christmas, of course; but are you?’

“‘Not so busy it’ll wreck my nerves keepin’ up with my dates,’ says I.  ‘Why?’

“’Can you spare a half-hour or so to come ’round to my office at—­well, say two tomorrow afternoon?  I’ve got a little business of my own and I’d like to have you there.  Will you come?’

“‘Sartin,’ I told him.

“‘Of course, if you’re afraid of the moral leprosy—­’

“‘I ain’t.’

“‘Then I’ll look for you,’ says he, and off he went.  I ain’t seen him since.  He come down along of Winnie S. and I had one of Chris Badger’s teams.  Now what do you cal’late it all means?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t know.  But I can’t think Emily—­Hush! she’s comin’.”

Emily entered the room and Captain Obed began philosophically concerning the storm, which he declared was “liable to be a hooter.”

He went away soon after.  At the door, when he and Mrs. Barnes were alone, he whispered, “Ain’t changed your mind, have you, Thankful?  About—­about what I said to you that day?”

“Obed, please!  You said you wouldn’t.”

“All right, all right.  Well, good night.  I’ll be around tomorrow to wish you and Emily and the second mate a merry Christmas.  Good night, Thankful.”

After he had gone Thankful and Emily assisted Georgie in hanging up his stocking and preparing for bed.  The boy seemed willing to retire, a most unusual willingness for him.  His only worry appeared to be concerning Santa Claus, whom he feared might be delayed in his rounds by the storm.

“He’ll be soaked, soppin’ wet, won’t he?” he asked anxiously.

“Oh, he won’t mind.  Santa Claus don’t mind this kind of weather.  He lives up at the North Pole, so folks say.”