“Hammond,” replied the visitor.  “Same to you, Mr. Stone.”

“Fine weather for this time of year.”

“Fine enough, Mr. Stone.”

“Well, Captain Hammond, what can we do for you?  Going to sail soon?”

“Not right away.  Just made port, less’n a week ago.  Home looks good to me, for a spell, anyhow.”

“So?  Yes, I have no doubt.  Let me see—­where is your home, captain?  I should remember, of course, but—­”

“Don’t know why you should.  This is my first trip in your latitude, I guess.  My home’s at Trumet.”

“Trumet?” Mr. Stone’s tone changed.

“Yes.  Trumet, down on the Cape.  Ever been there?  We think it’s about as good a place as there is.”

“Hu-u-m!  Trumet?  Well, Captain Hammond, you wished to see me, I understand.”

“Yes.  Fact is, Mr. Stone, I want to ask you where I can find Mrs. Keziah Coffin.  She’s a relation of yours, I b’lieve, and she’s come to Boston lately.  Only yesterday or the day afore.  Can you tell me where she is?”

“Why do you wish to see her?”

“Oh, for reasons, personal ones.  She’s a friend of mine.”

“I see.  No, captain, I can’t tell you where she is.  Good morning.”

Captain Nat was greatly disappointed.

“Hold on there, just a minute,” he begged.  “This is important, you understand, Mr. Stone.  I’m mighty anxious to find Kezi—­Mrs. Coffin.  We thought, some of her friends and I, that most likely you’d know where she was.  Can’t you give us any help at all?  Hasn’t she been here?”

“Good morning, Captain Hammond.  You must excuse me, I’m busy.”

He went into the office and closed the door.  Captain Nat rubbed his forehead desperately.  He had been almost sure that Abner Stone would put him on Keziah’s track.  Grace had thought so, too.  She remembered what the housekeeper had told concerning her Boston cousin and how the latter had found employment for her when she contemplated leaving Trumet, after her brother’s death.  Grace believed that Keziah would go to him at once.

Nat walked to the door and stood there, trying to think what to do next.  A smart young person, wearing a conspicuous suit of clothes, aided and abetted by a vivid waistcoat and a pair of youthful but promising side whiskers, came briskly along the sidewalk and stopped in front of him.

“Well, sir?” observed this person, with cheerful condescension.  “Anything I can do for you?”

Captain Nat turned his gaze upon the side whiskers and the waistcoat.

“Hey?” he queried.

“I say, is there anything I can do for you?”

The captain shook his head.  “No-o,” he drawled dryly, “I’m afraid not, son.  I admit that don’t seem scarcely possible, but I am afraid it’s so.”

“Looking for something in our line, was you?”

“Well, I don’t know.  What might be on your line—­clothes?”

The bewhiskered one drew himself up.  “I am connected with Stone & Barker,” he said sharply.  “And, seeing you standing in our doorway, I thought possibly—­”