"Well, Blakely?" asked the captain.
Blakely hung his weight on a foot and, coughing behind his plump hand, bobbed his answer: "Steam's up, sir."
Lounsbury had the centre of the floor. He kept it, reaching out to bring Dallas beside him. They stood while the others crowded up to give them well wishes and to tell them good-night.
Last of all came David Bond. "My daughter, my son," he said, "God bless you!"
Lounsbury slipped Dallas' hand into his arm. Then the door opened for them, and they went out—together.
"John is a good man," said the evangelist, "and will make a good husband," He was seated with Fraser on the gallery, watching a light in midstream dance its way through the dark.
Fraser sighed happily. "She's a dear girl," he murmured, looking back to where the lamp was moving about in Oliver's spare room. "She'd make a wife for a prince."
Presently he roused himself with another sigh. "You ought to see the way we fixed up the shack," he said. "White kick-up curtains on the windows—that was Mrs. Oliver's idea; rose-berries all over the mantel—Marylyn did that; I stuffed the fireplace full of sumach; then, Michael sprinkled and swept out, and we covered the floor with Navajo blankets."
"Little place looked cosey."