"What was the trouble?" he asked, when Justin came presently down the steps.
"She upset a table with a jug of water on it and wet her feet."
"You get a girl in the house and you'll have to dance attendance on her, young man. Has she got comfortable quarters up there?"
"Yes; we moved some furniture into those two empty front rooms, and I'm going to get her some more things."
"Why didn't you marry a Rossignol girl? Judging from the eye-snap I had at this one, she's about as much out of your line of life as the admiral of a fleet is out of mine."
"I guess all girls have spoiled ways, Micah."
"Oh, hooks and ninepins—what a baby you are, Justin," and Captain White wagged his head and burst into an uneasy chuckling laugh. "You don't know any more about women than a moon-calf, but she'll teach you, lad, she'll teach you."
Justin did not answer him. "Don't hear me," soliloquised Captain White, "the muscles of his ears are nearly tearing themselves out of place to hear if there is any sound from that girl. Oh, this is comedy to see young tombstone-face, young blank-wall prancing to the whims of a girl—I might as well retire—he don't pay any attention to me. I guess I better set my mind alarm for six o'clock in the morning. I've drunk up Pretty-face's cream, and I'll have to rise early and capture some milkman. I guess—" and he paused and raised one lean, hairy paw to the ceiling—"that you up there, young miss, won't ever sit down and cry because you threw this old sardine a sweet smile for your father's sake," and with this prophetic remark he put aside his pipe, and, stripping off his clothes with the rapidity of lightning, was in two minutes in bed and sound asleep.