house. Captain Eben followed and the door closed.

John Ellery picked his way homeward through the puddles and the pouring
rain.

He found Keziah in the sitting room, seated by the table, evidently
writing a letter. She looked tired and grave--for her.

"Well!" she exclaimed as he entered. "I guess you're soppin' now, sartin
sure. There's a light in your room. Take off your wet things and throw
'em down to me, and I'll dry 'em in the kitchen. Better leave your boots
here now and stand that umbrella in the sink. The kettle's on the stove;
you'd better have somethin' hot--ginger tea or somethin'. I told you not
to go out such a night as this. Where in the world have you been?"

The minister said he would tell her all about it in the morning. Just
now he thought he had better go up and take off his wet clothes. He
declined the ginger tea, and, after removing his boots, went upstairs to
his room.

Keziah dipped her pen in the ink and went on with her letter.

"I inclose ten dollars," she wrote. "It is all I can send you now. More
than I ought to afford. Goodness knows why I send anything. You don't
deserve it. But while I live and you do I can't--"

The minister called from the landing.

"Here is my coat," he said. "The cuffs and lower part of the sleeves are
pretty wet. By the way, the packet came in to-night. They didn't expect