“Oh, dry up! I want to think who I must see this morning. There's Lem and old lady Penniman, and—”
“But the housekeeper, Cy! Don't you see—”
“Hire one yourself, then. You know 'em; I don't.”
“Hey? Hire one myself? Do you mean you'll leave it in my hands?”
“Yes, yes! I guess so. Run along, that's a good feller.”
He departed hurriedly. Mr. Bangs scratched his head. A weighty responsibility had been laid upon him.
Monday morning after breakfast Captain Cy's trunk was put aboard the depot wagon, and Dan'l Webster drew it to its owner's home. The farewells at the perfect boarding house were affecting. Mrs. Tripp said that she had spoken to the Reverend Mr. Daniels, and he would be sure to call the very first thing. Keturah affirmed that the captain's stay had been a real pleasure.
“You never find fault, Cap'n Whittaker,” she said. “You're such a manly man, if you'll excuse my sayin' so. I only wish there was more like you,” with a significant glance at her husband. As for Miss Phinney, she might have been saying good-by yet if the captain had not excused himself.
Asaph accompanied his friend to the house on the hill. The trunk was unloaded from the wagon and carried into the bedroom on the first floor, the room which had been Captain Cy's so long ago. Gabe shrieked at Dan'l Webster, and the depot wagon crawled away toward the upper road.
“Got to meet the up train,” grumbled the driver. “Not that anybody ever comes on it, but I cal'late I'm s'posed to be there. Be more talk than a little if I wan't. Git dap, Dan'l! you're slower'n the moral law.”