Comfort opened it, and there stood a boy, nearly a man, in the dress of a sailor. His hair was long and shaggy, his face was brown, and over his shoulder swung a small bundle on a stick.
He was not, however, as rough as he looked, for he took off his hat and said in a pleasant voice,
“Can you tell me where a widow by the name of Harrow lives in this neighborhood? I was directed this way, I think.”
“Over yonder is the house,” said Comfort, pointing out into the night. “And the next time yer come, be keerful not to thump so hard. We are not used to it in this ’ere part of the country.”
Nelly heard the young man laugh as he walked down the path from the house; and something in the sound brought Miss Milly to her mind. The more she thought of it, the more certain she became that the young man’s voice was like her teacher’s. She sat still a little while, thinking, and idly scratching her pencil back and forth. At length she said, quite forgetful of her writing,
“Comfort, didn’t Mrs. Harrow’s son run away to sea, ever so long ago?”
This question, simple as it was, seemed to fill Comfort with sudden knowledge. She clapped her hands together joyfully.
“My stars! ef that don’t beat all! I do b’lieve Sidney Harrow is come back again!”
She went to the door to look after him, but his figure had long since vanished down the path. The gloom of night reigned, undisturbed, without. There was no sailor-boy to be seen.
“My stars!” said Comfort, again and again; “ef that was only Miss Milly’s brother come back to help keer for the family, instead of runnin’ off like a bad ongrateful feller, as he was, I’ll be glad for one.”