Gardiner now joined the uncle and niece, who had held this conversation in the porch, having hastened up from the schooner the instant he received Mary’s summons.  He was rewarded by a kind look and a friendly shake of the hand, each of which was slightly more cordial than those that prudent and thoughtful young woman was accustomed to bestow on him.  He saw that Mary was a little earnest in her manner, and looked curious, as well as interested, to learn why he had been summoned at all.  Sunday was kept so rigidly at the deacon’s, that the young man did not dare visit the house until after the sun had set; the New England practice of commencing the Sabbath of a Saturday evening, and bringing it to a close at the succeeding sunset, prevailing among most of the people of Suffolk, the Episcopalians, forming nearly all the exceptions to the usage.  Sunday evening, consequently, was in great request for visits, it being the favourite time for the young people to meet, as they were not only certain to be unemployed, but to be in their best.  Roswell Gardiner was in the practice of visiting Mary Pratt on Sunday evenings; but he would almost as soon think of desecrating a church, as think of entering the deacon’s abode, on the Sabbath, until after sunset, or “sun_down_,” to use the familiar Americanism that is commonly applied to this hour of the day.  Here he was, now, however, wondering, and anxious to learn why he had been sent for.

“Roswell,” said Mary, earnestly, slightly colouring again as she spoke, “we have a great favour to ask.  You know the poor old sailor who has been, staying at the Widow While’s, this month or more—­he is now very low; so low, we think he ought to have better advice than can be found on Oyster Pond, and we wish to get Dr. Sage over from the Harbour.  How to do it has been the question, when I thought of you.  If you could take the whale-boat and go across, the poor man might have the benefit of the doctor’s advice in the course of a few hours.”

“Yes,” put in the uncle, “and I shall charge nothing for the use of the boat; so that, if you volunteer, Gar’ner, it will leave so much towards settling up the man’s accounts, when settling day comes.”

Roswell Gardiner understood both uncle and niece perfectly.  The intense selfishness of the first was no more a secret to him than was the entire disinterestedness of the last.  He gazed a moment, in fervent admiration, at Mary; then he turned to the deacon, and professed his readiness to “volunteer.”  Knowing the man so well, he took care distinctly to express the word, so as to put the mind of this votary of Mammon at ease.

“Gar’ner will volunteer, then,” rejoined the uncle, “and I shall charge nothing for the use of the boat.  This is ‘doing as we would be done by,’ and is all right, considering that Daggett is sick and among strangers.  The wind is fair, or nearly fair, to go and to come back, and you’ll make a short trip of it.  Yes, it will cost nothing, and may do the poor man good.”