The man from Boston seemed just a little embarrassed, but only for an instant, when he answered very reassuringly: "Steady? Oh, yes. Steady as a deacon." Muttering to himself, "some deacons, at least."
"Working at ship-carpentering, I believe?"
"Oh, yes. Certainly. A fine ship-carpenter he is, too."
"When did you see him last?"
"H'm. Well, let me see. It must have been—yes, it was two weeks ago yesterday. I'm quite disappointed not to find him here."
"He may have stopped over somewhere on the road a day or two; and if you're in no hurry, and will wait for him, you are welcome to stop with me. I'll give you Silas's own room."
"Thank you. Thank you very much, Mr. Thatcher; but I have already made other arrangements. I have promised to go over and stop with a friend in the village, and after I have looked on a little while at your very interesting industry here, I think I'll go back there, and return to-morrow. Silas may have come by that time."
"Very well. Suit yourself, sir, Mr. ——; I didn't rightly catch your name—Mr. ——?"
"Ketchum, Mr. Thatcher, Ketchum."
"Mr. Ketchum. Glad to know you, Mr. Ketchum. Glad to know any friend of my son Silas's."