coiled ropes, and a mound of gear—double, clew-line, long-tackle, and snatch-blocks,—like a cairn raised to mark an ended activity.
The captain had emptied his pockets of their "souverins," and, with one hand thrust in breast-high, was considering where to bestow the worsted doll, when the door from the kitchen opened, and Mrs. Christy stood looking in. Fortune, good or ill, had chosen this heavy-hearted moment of the captain's meditation.
"Who was that you were talking to?" she demanded, curiosity qualifying the wonted disapproval in her tone.
"Oh, that was Joyce," replied the captain, from a distance of thought.
"Again!" snapped his wife. A shadow of ill-will gathered on her heavy features. "Always gadding round with her, or some young woman. At your age of life, too!"
For the first time in many days, the captain's temper sounded in his voice.
"Come, Carrie, don't be foolish," he commanded sharply. "Don't say things you don't mean." He spoke more gently: "Joyce
