In the meantime, Justin went into the parlor and set the chairs, tables, lamps and vases straight, and laid a Bible, a hymn book, an old copy of Shakespeare and an old almanac, a slate-pencil and some paper, pens and ink upon the book shelves. Then he fastened the windows and doors.
Finally, the three friends, having completed their work, met in the front passage.
“Troth,” said Judith, “whoever comes afther us can’t say as we’re not good housekeepers; for sure they’ll find everything convanient to their hands, so they will.”
No one answered the girl. But Justin, with a grave face, summoned the two women to his side, and then, reverently lifting his hat, returned thanks to Divine Providence for their long preservation on the desert island, and for their present happy deliverance, and invoked his blessing on the isle they were leaving, that it might yet become the cultivated and populous habitation of civilized and Christian man, and on their own coming voyage, that it might have a prosperous course and happy end.
And then the three went out of the house, closing the front door behind them, and taking their way to the beach, followed by the faithful little dog. Justin carried on his shoulder the last box, which came out of Britomarte’s room, filled with combs, brushes, towels, etc.
Down on the sands they found the boat waiting for them under the command of Lieutenant Ethel, who, to do them honor, had come in person to take them on board.
Crummie was already in the boat, to which she had been enticed by Judith’s old device of a pail of “warrum male and wather.”
And now, with her nose in that delicious mess, she remained quiet enough while the boat was still.
Lieutenant Ethel stepped on shore, bowed profoundly to Britomarte, and held out his hands to Mr. Rosenthal, with a hearty:
“Good-morning.”