"I swan! Ida May—er—well, whoever you be, gal, let me set down! I'm near spent, and that's a fact."
"Oh, Cap'n Ball, you should not have done this!" cried the girl, letting him lean upon her and aiding him as rapidly as possible to the cabin door. "You should not have done this. You—you can do nothing for me. You can do no good by coming here."
"Humph! P'r'aps not. Mebbe you're right. Let me set down on that box, gal," he muttered.
He eased himself down upon the rough seat against the wall. He removed the cap with an effort and took his huge handkerchief from its crown. He mopped his brow and face and finally heaved a huge sigh.
"I swan! That was a pull," he said. "So you're settled here. Gone to housekeeping on your own hook, have ye?" he said.
"Just for a little while, Cap'n Ira. Only—only until I can get away. I—I have been expecting some money—payment of one of my father's old bills."
She slit the envelope of the letter little John-Ed had just brought her. Inside was a pale-blue slip—a money order.
"Yes," she said. "I can get away now. I must go somewhere to earn my living, and as far away from here as I can get."
"So you think on traveling, do you?" said the old man. "You ain't content with Big Wreck Cove and the Head?"
"Oh, Cap'n Ira!" she cried. "You know I can't stay here. Winter is coming. Besides, the people here—"