“I think it will be easier now,” admitted Daddy.  “I can’t say that you made me suffer very much.  I am obliged to you, and also to you, madam.”

She treated him to a gentle, motherly smile, and grabbed her old wet shawl again.

“I’d be ever so glad to stay with you all night,” she said, “but unfortunately one of my kiddies is teething and wants me rather badly.  May I call in the morning?”

By this time father was utterly captured.

“You would be ever so kind,” he said.  “I can hardly thank you sufficiently.”

She refused proffers of umbrellas and water-proofs, laughingly saying that she could not reach home much wetter than she was, and disappeared.

“Our parson’s wife, Miss Jelliffe,” explained Dr. Grant, “and the nearest thing to a blessing that Sweetapple Cove has ever known, I should say.”

“She must be,” I assented.  “She is perfectly charming.”

Then he went in the next room, where the mariner was waiting, sitting in a chair and contemplating his red socks.

“We’re off again to-morrow morning to Will’s Island,” said the doctor.  “Just let Frenchy know, will you?  We shall start as soon as possible after I have found out how Mr. Jelliffe has passed the night.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the old man, lifting a gnarled hand to his tousled locks.

The doctor looked around him.  His big frame seemed to relax, and a compelling yawn forced him to lift his hand to his mouth.  Then he came in again.

“Good night, Mr. Jelliffe,” he said.  “I’ll be here the first thing in the morning.  You may take this little tablet if the pain is severe, but don’t touch it unless you are really compelled to.”

Daddy stretched out his hand, in a very friendly way, and he certainly looked approvingly at the young man.  Then I accompanied the latter to the outer door.  It was still raining and the wind blew hard.

“Good night, Miss Jelliffe,” he bade me.  “Your father’s injury is quite a simple one and I have no doubt we shall obtain a good result.”

He picked up his oilskins and put them on again.

“Thank you,” was all I could find to say.  His long steps rapidly carried him away and he disappeared in the misty blackness.

When I returned the old fisherman, whose name is Sammy, was standing by father’s bed.

“It seems to me,” complained Daddy, “that he might have offered to stay with me all night.  I call it rather inconsiderate of him.”

“We is fixed fer that, sir,” asserted Captain Sammy.  “I be goin’ ter stay wid’ yer.  I’ll jist set down by the stove and, case I should git ter sleep, jist bawl out or heave somethin’ at me.  First I’ll go an’ git a bite er grub, jist a spud er two an’ a dish o’ tea; likely th’ old woman has some brooze fer me, waitin’.  I’ll be back so soon ye’ll hardly know I been gone.”

He looked at us, his kindly old face lighting up into a smile.  Then he pointed with a stubby thumb in the direction the doctor had taken.