the door a canvas bag lay dumped, with the letters "J. S.—Bark Gild—" showing through the dirt. Beyond it he saw his father's big armchair drawn out of its corner and before the stove, where it had not been for years; and slumped in the chair was a great hulk of a man, with a fierce white mustache and a gray-brown face. The room smelled of a rank pipe and of whiskey.
For the first instant Marden thought his father had come back to life; for the next, it was surely a dream; then he was himself again, grasping wildly at the situation, and thanking God that his mother had died before this thing could happen.
"Oh, I 've got no good o' me daughters
Since Barney came ashore"—
growled the apparition, and spat again, so that the warped stove sizzled. Then, as if conscious of the eyes fixed upon him, he looked up and saw Marden gripping the door frame. For all the world, the big face and staring, puffy eyes were those of the old captain, John Sebright.
"Hello, podner," he grunted, half surly,
