"What do you want?" demanded Aunt Thatcher, who happened to "answer his hail."
"Be you Mary Wallace?" asked Billy, with an affectation of profound astonishment.
"No, I ain't. But I'm her aunt, and you can tell me your business."
"Right you are, old gal, I can; but I'll see you furder, first," replied the unabashed veteran, who had already been told by some neighbor that she was a "snorter."
"What do you mean, you impudent fellow?"
"I always does my business with the principals, mum."
Mrs. Thatcher slammed the door in his face and retired. But half an hour afterward, when she happened to be out in the yard, she saw that the sailor had lighted his pipe, seated himself on the stone step at the door, and literally laid siege to the house. She reflected that Uncle Thatcher would soon be home to his supper; and in view of the strange way he had acted of late, did not know how he might take it into his head to look upon her treatment of the visitor. Tartar as she was, she had a wholesome respect for him when he chose to assert himself, and deemed it most prudent to avoid an encounter.
With an ill-grace she went to Mary, who was sewing in her room, and said snarlingly:
"There's an old vagabond at the door who wants to see you."
Mary went out and found Billy calmly puffing his pipe and waiting. He looked up at the sound of the opening of the door, and seeing the tall handsome girl who stood there, sprang to his feet, with a beaming smile and outstretched hand, saying: