given, of course, and the nurse came. She was a quiet, pleasant, capable person, and Daniel and Gertrude liked her. She took charge of the sick room. Azuba--the common sense, adequate, domestic Azuba of old, not the rampant "free woman" of recent days--was in charge of the kitchen. Her husband remained, at Daniel's earnest request, but he spent his time below stairs.
"Sartin sure I won't be in the way, Cap'n, be you?" he asked earnestly. "I can go somewheres else just as well as not, to some boardin' house or somewheres. Zuby Jane won't mind; we can see each other every day."
"Not a mite of it, Labe," replied Daniel earnestly. "There's plenty of room and you can stay here along with your wife just as well as not. I'd like to have you. Maybe--" with a suggestive wink, "maybe you can kind of--well, kind of keep things runnin' smooth--in the galley. You know what I mean."
Laban grinned. "Cal'late you won't have no more trouble that way, Cap'n," he observed. "I guess that's over. Zuby and I understand each other better'n we did. I THOUGHT she was mighty--"
"Mighty what?" Mr. Ginn had broken off his sentence in the middle.
"Oh, nothin'. It's all right, Cap'n Dott. Don't you worry about Zuby and me. We'll boss this end of the craft; you 'tend to the rest of it. Say, that Hungerford swab ain't come back, has he?"
"No. No, he hasn't. He's gone for good, it looks like. Sent for his trunk and gone. That's queer, too. No, he hasn't come back."
Laban seemed disappointed. "Well, all right," he said. "If he should come, just send for me. I'd just as soon talk to him as not--rather, if anything."
The captain shook his head in a puzzled way.
"That business of--of him and Zuba was the strangest thing," he declared. "I can't make head nor tail of it, and Gertie won't talk about it at all. He said 'twas a mistake, and of course it must have been. Either that or he'd gone crazy. No sane man would--"
"What's that?" It was Mr. Ginn's turn to question, and Daniel's to look foolish. "What's that no sane man would do?" demanded Laban sharply.
"Why--why, go away and leave us without sayin' good-by," explained the captain, with surprising presence of mind. "Er--well, so long, Laban. Make yourself at home. I've got to see how Serena is."
He hurried up the back stairs. Mr. Ginn, who seemed a trifle suspicious, called after him, but the call was unheeded.
At the door of his wife's room--his room no longer--Captain Dan rapped softly. The nurse opened the door.
"How is she?" he whispered.
"She is asleep now," whispered the nurse in reply. "You must not come in."
"I wasn't goin' to. But--but--has she been askin' for me?"
"Yes. I told her you were out. If she wakes and asks for you I will call. You may see her then for a minute or two. She is easier when you are with her--or near by."
This was true. The one person Serena wished to see most of all was her husband. She asked for Gertrude, of course, but it was Daniel for whom she asked continually. If he were near her she seemed almost happy and contented. It was when he sat beside the bed that she ceased tossing upon the pillow and lay quiet, looking at him.
"You are a good man, Daniel," she whispered, on one of these occasions. "A dear, good, unselfish man."
"No, no, I ain't any such thing," protested the captain hastily.
"But you are. And--and WHAT should I do without you now?"
"Sh-sh! I'm not much help. Land knows I wish I was more."
"You ARE the help; all the help I have. Gertie--Daniel, you will keep an eye on Gertie, won't you. You won't let her do anything foolish."
"Who? Gertie? She won't do foolish things. She ain't that kind."
"I know, but she has changed so. It worries me. Percy--"
"Now don't you worry about Percy. He isn't here now."
"Not here? Where is he?"
"I don't know. He's gone away--for a spell, anyhow. Maybe that vacation he used to talk about is over. I guess that's it."
Serena was too weak to ask further questions, even concerning so surprising a matter as Cousin Percy's sudden departure. But she did make one further plea.
"Daniel," she begged, "if Annette calls about the Chapter you tell her--"
"I've told her. She understands. She says it's all right."
"Does she? I'm so glad. Oh, Daniel, you'll have to take charge of everything now. I can't, and Gertrude--you must do it, yourself, Daniel. You MUST. Of Azuba and Gertie and everything. I rely on you. You WILL, won't you, Daniel?"
"Sure I will. I'm skipper now, Serena. You ought to see how the hands jump when I give an order."
It was true, too; the hands did "jump" at the captain's orders. He was skipper, for the time being. His wife's illness, Mr. Hungerford's absence, Gertrude's meekness--she was a silent and conscience-stricken young lady--all combined to strengthen Daniel's resolution, and he was, for the first time in years, the actual head of the household. He took active charge of the bills and financial affairs, he commanded Azuba to do this and that, he saw the callers who came and he sent them to the rightabout in a hurry.
His statement concerning Mrs. Black was not the literal truth. Annette had called, that was true; she had called the very next morning after her chief aide was stricken. But she had not declared that everything was "all right"; far from it.
"But can't I see her, Captain Dott?" she begged. "I MUST see her for just a minute."
"Sorry, ma'am, but you can't do it. Doctor's orders. She mustn't be disturbed."
"But I've got to see her. I must talk with her."
"I know, but I'm afraid you can't. You can talk to me, if that will do any good."
"It won't. Of course it won't. Where is Gertrude? Let me talk to her."
Daniel climbed the stairs to his daughter's room. He found her sitting at her desk; she had been writing "regrets" in answer to various invitations. She turned a careworn face in his direction.
"What is it, Daddy?" she asked. "Mother is not worse, is she?"
"No, no; she's better, if anything. But that--er--Annette Black has come and, long as she can't see Serena, she wants to talk to you."
"About her precious politics, I suppose."
"Your supposin' is as nigh right as anything mortal can be, Gertie. That's what she wants."
"I can't see her. I don't want to see her. I don't want to hear the word politics. I--"
"That's enough, that's enough. I'll 'tend to HER. You stay right here."
He descended to the drawing-room, where Annette was fidgeting on the edge of a chair, and announced calmly that Gertrude was not at home.
The caller's agitation got the better of her temper.
"Nonsense!" she snapped. "I don't believe it. How do you know she isn't?"
"Because she said so. Lovely mornin' for a walk, isn't it?"
Mrs. Black rose and stalked to the threshold. But there she turned once more.
"If your wife knew," she cried hysterically, "how I, her best friend, was treated in her house, she--she--"
Daniel stepped forward. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Black," he said. "Maybe I have been pretty plain spoken. I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelin's. But, you see,