“Do you know what they did?” said Parson All, taking Parson Jaunt by the lapel of the coat and staring deep into his eyes. “Do you know what they did?”
Parson Jaunt wagged his head.
“Why, brother,” Parson All declared, with genuinely grateful tears in his eyes, “when I told Skipper Jonathan that brewis soured on my stomach, he got me tinned beef, and butter, and canned peaches, and cheese. I’ll never forget his goodness. Never!”
Parson Jaunt stared. “What a wonderful thing Christianity is!” he exclaimed. “What a wonderful, wonderful thing! By their fruits,” he quoted, “ye shall know them.”
The Black Bay clergy were called aboard. Parson Jaunt shook off the mild old Parson All and rushed to the Chairman of the District, his black coat-tails flying in the easterly wind, and wrung the Chairman’s hand, and jovially laughed until his jolly little paunch shook like jelly....
That night, in the whitewashed cottage upon which the angry gale beat, Skipper Jonathan and Aunt Tibbie sat together by the kitchen fire. Skipper Jonathan was hopelessly in from the sea—from the white waves thereof, and the wind, and the perilous night—and Aunt Tibbie had dressed the sores on his wrists. The twins and all the rest of the little crew were tucked away and sound asleep.
Skipper Jonathan sighed.
“What was you thinkin’ about, Jonathan?” Aunt Tibbie asked.
“Jus’ ponderin’,” said he.