“By me sowl, cap’n, dear, it’s a fine lather yez given owld Uncle Ned. Is it fur ye’ve rode?”
“No,” shortly replied the captain.
“Is that so? Thin what’s the matter wid the baste? Shure he’s not looked so wary loike since—since Master Harry—”
“Shut up, you fool!” thundered the captain. “It’s your business to take care of him, and not to ask impertinent questions.” And he stamped into the house, muttering, “Am I never to hear the last of that boy?”
Phil scratched his head, and looked after the captain.
“Shure there’s an aist wind blowin’, an’ we’ll have to be afther scuddin’ under bare poles, jist.”
Gloomily the captain stalked through the various sections of his establishment, until he reached the front sitting-room, and found himself in the presence of his wife.
Mrs. Thompson was the queen of Cleverly society. The mention of her name in any company was enough to make the most silent tongue suddenly eloquent. She was plump in person and plump in virtues. Her face was just round and full enough to please everybody. No one had such rosy cheeks as Mrs. Thompson, “at her time of life too!” There was the kindliest light in her grey eyes, and the jolliest puckers about her mouth; and the short gray curls that flourished all over her head formed a perfect crown of beauty—nothing else. Cleverly folks were proud of her, and well they might be. She was everybody’s friend. She not only ministered to the wants of the needy, but she sought them out. She was the first at the bedside of the sick, and the last to give them up, for she was as well skilled in domestic medicine as she was in domestic cooking, and superior in both. She was a wondrous helper, for she knew just where to put her hands, and an enchanting talker, for she never spoke ill of anybody. She was a devout sister of the church, promulgating the true religious doctrines of faith, hope, and charity with no sanctimonious face, but purifying and warming with the incense of good deeds and the sunshine of a life cheerful, hopeful, and energetic. She had her cross to bear—who has not?—but she so enveloped it in the luxuriant branches of the tree of usefulness rooted in her own heart, that its burden lay easy on her broad, matronly shoulders.
On the captain’s entrance she was seated in a low rocking-chair, darning one of her husband’s socks. She looked up, with a smile upon her face.