"Only a caretaker, the same old colored man we always employ," stated Mrs. Richard Willard, tall, elegant, a
bit weary of manner. "The servants will finish closing the house to-morrow, then some of them have
vacations, and the rest will be in our Boston house. We take only our maids and Mr. Willard's man up
to-night. We shall not go to the city house at all ourselves. It will be much more sensible to stay at the hotel."
"Of course," said the lady. Then she said something about an unexpected start, and so early in the season, and
Mrs. Willard replied that to her nothing was ever unexpected. That had ceased with her youth, and Mr.
Willard was not quite well, and there were seasons all over creation. She said that with a pleasant smile --
weary, however.
Martha eyed her keenly when she and Joe, after the train with all the Willards on board had pulled out, were
walking home.
"She said that She didn't look none too strong, and she guessed it was a good thing She was going." Martha
said that as if Mrs. Richard Willard, who had never heard of her, was her dearly beloved friend or relative.
Joe nodded solemnly. "She did look sorter peaked," he agreed. "As for Him, he didn't look no worse than
usual to me, but I guess it's jest as well for them they're off, let alone us."
The remark seemed enigmatic, but Martha understood. They walked home from the station. They passed the
Willard house, standing aloof from the highway like a grand Colonial lady.
"The awnin's are down," said Martha, "and they've begun to board up the winders."
Joe nodded.
"It is unlooked for, as far as we are concerned," said Martha, with a happy widening of her lips.
"Day arter to-morrer -- only think of it!" said Captain Joe.
"Goin' out fishin' to-morrer?"
"Reckon not; got an considerable to-day, and I want to git my hair cut to-morrer."
"I'm goin' to trim my bunnit over, and fix my best dress a little, too; and I guess your best suit needs brushin'."
"There's a spot on the coat."
"I'll git it off. Land! I do hope Sunday is pleasant."
"Goin' to be. It's a dry moon," declared Joe.
However, Sunday, although fair, was one of those fervid days of summer which threatened storm.
"It's goin' to shower," declared Martha. She was clad in her best black silk, hot, and tightly fitted, trimmed
with cascades of glittering jet. A jet aigrette on her bonnet caught the light. She had fastened a vivid rose on
one side of the bonnet to do honor to the occasion. Crowning glory -- she wore her white gloves, her one pair,
which was the treasure of her wardrobe.
"Better take the umbrell', I guess," said Joe.
"Guess you'd better."