For the first Mark Ingram had been a man well loved and highly honored, and there was a hush over all the little town when the cruel word came. And it was to be remembered, too, that Mark Ingram was not the only loss. Resthaven men, for the most part, had made up the crew of the Fortune. Now no man of them was alive, and it was not for the Ingram mansion alone to be a house of mourning. Mrs. Titcomb did not remember Great-grandfather Mark himself—that last voyage had begun while she was still in the cradle—but of Grandfather Mark on that day she had a clear recollection. How he had come walking firmly up from Ingram Wharf, a spare, sober, young man, in black clothes with bright buttons upon them. Under his arm he had carried his ship's book, and he held his hat in his hand, in recognition of the salutes of Resthaven. Yes, Mrs. Titcomb could see him very distinctly.
"I remember even how his hair blew away from his face—men wore it longer then than now—and I was a thought afraid of him, he looked so stern and white. He had your blue eyes, Jane, and he looked bigger than he was,
