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When Jim Weston's house burned to the ground, it caused a great deal of talk not only in the Valley but all along the Shore Road. There had been other fires in the parish, but none had aroused such a general interest as this. There were several reasons. The record of Jim's past life was well known. Many had shaken their heads in disapproval when the "jail bird" had settled in the Valley. They did not want such a man in their midst, for there was no telling what he might do. They were, therefore, not surprised when his wife had left him two weeks before the fire. Perhaps she knew that he intended to burn the house down to get the insurance, and she would not agree to the deed. A man who would scuttle his ship for gain would not stop at anything, so people openly declared.

This suspicion was strengthened by the fact that Jim Weston had laughed when his dwelling was destroyed. There was no doubt about that, for several had heard him, and it formed a choice topic of conversation at the Corner store where a number of people were gathered.

"I can swear I heard him laugh," Billy Wright declared, "for I was only a few feet away. But it was a funny laugh which sent the shivers up an' down me spine. Jim was standin' right by his household stuff we had saved, an' lookin' at the burnin' sticks, when he gave that queer laugh. I asked him what he was laughin' at, but he made me no answer. You heard him, Tom, for you were quite near."

"Oh, I heard him, all right," Tom Griswell replied. "His laugh was queer, and no mistake. I've been thinking about it all day. Jim's been a puzzle to me ever since he came among us. But he puzzled me still more this morning. I happened to be passing his place when the fire broke out. Jim was at the barn, and I yelled to him, so we both got to the house about the same time. There was nothing we could do to save the building, but there was a chance to get some of the furniture out. To my surprise, Jim dashed at once upstairs and dragged down a baby's cradle. He ran a considerable risk, for the smoke was so thick up there that I don't know how he could see or breathe. But down he came with that cradle and carried it out in the yard. After that he didn't seem to care whether anything else was saved or not, and if the neighbors hadn't soon arrived he would have lost everything except what I managed to rescue."

"It was his baby's cradle," Billy explained. "He lost her last year, and it nearly broke his heart. She meant everything to him and his missus. But why he laughed is more'n I can understand."

Jim Weston himself was the only one who could solve the mystery. But he offered no explanation. Perhaps he did not know that his short laugh had aroused so much curiosity among his neighbors. And if he had known, it would not have concerned him in the least. He had other things to think about, and one was the home-coming of his wife. She had written that she would arrive on the evening boat, and for him to meet her at the wharf.

When his neighbors had gone, Jim remained for some time near the ruins of his house. Nell was coming home today, home to this! Again he laughed, but no one was near to hear him this time. He then pulled a letter from his pocket and held it in his blackened hands.

Dear Jim,

I am going home on Tuesday. Meet me at the wharf. I am sorry I left you, and want to go back to you again. Please forgive me. You need me, and I need you.

Your loving wife,

Nell.

For some time he stood there with the letter in his hand. He was a lone figure of a man, in harmony with the ruins around him. Ruins! He had known nothing else for years. The destruction of his house was as nothing to the ruin of his own life. One could be restored; the other was beyond repair. He folded the letter and thrust it back into his pocket.

"Nell once said she wished the house would burn down. Her wish has been granted, and she is coming home today! Home to this!"

The rest of the morning he worked at a small building near the barn used for storing waggons, plow, harrow, and other farming implements. He cleared the place of these, and then set to work to make the building as habitable as possible. It would have to serve as their dwelling for the present. He worked with a feverish energy as an outlet to the passion that was stirring his soul. Life had treated him hard, but he would fight to the last. He would not give up. He had often driven his ship, the Ocean Belle, through a raging sea with mountainous waves reaching out their cruel arms to engulf him, and he had laughed their utmost efforts to scorn. And he would do the same now against the winds and waves of fate and the deviltry of men. That sea-spirit was in his blood and had upheld him in most trying times. While clearing his rough land, when building his fences during the heat of summer, or facing the storms of winter, he was always the captain in command, and the Ocean Belle with her graceful lines, her proudly-lifting prow, her tall masts, swaying yards, and her clouds of canvas, was his inspiration. Nothing could ever blur that vision. Once a captain, always a captain, whether on sea or land.

That evening Jim arrived as the River Queen nosed her way into the wharf. He saw Nell, carrying her small grip, coming down the gang-plank. How pretty she looked, and so happy. She smiled as she came to where her husband was standing by the waggon. But the smile faded when she saw the expression upon his face. She shrank back as from a blow. Her lip quivered and a sudden weakness came upon her. Jim took the grip and tossed it into the waggon.

"Climb up," he ordered.

His wife, however, hesitated and glanced back at the steamer, as if she longed to return. Jim saw and interpreted her look. His face darkened, and he clutched her somewhat roughly by the arm.

"Climb up," he repeated.

His wife at once obeyed, and in another minute they were on their way towards the main road. Nothing was said for a time, and Mrs. Weston sat very rigid by her husband's side. She was angry, and it was impossible for her to remain silent any longer.

"This is a strange welcome you have given me," she began. "You don't seem one bit glad to have me home again."

Jim aroused as from a deep reverie and laughed sarcastically.

"H'm, what other kind of a welcome should a deserter receive?"

"But I'm not a deserter. I merely went home to visit mother."

"I suppose so. But if any one of my men had left the Ocean Belle for two weeks, I know what it would have been called. It would have been desertion, pure and simple.

"But I'm not a sailor. I'm your wife, and I have a right to go on a visit when I desire. It is the first time I have left you since we came to the Valley. Surely you do not begrudge me a holiday."

"No, I can't say I do. But it was the way you left, Nell. You didn't intend to come back. I don't know what changed your mind, and it's not necessary for me to know."

"It was the thought of you all alone without any one to help you. I was tired when I left, and my nerves were unstrung. But when I had a good rest, I saw things in a new light, so decided to come home."

"Well, that's interesting. I did miss you, Nell, that's a fact. When I came in from work the house was mighty lonely. Outside of the Deans I saw very few of the neighbors. They don't want anything to do with a jail-bird."

"Don't say that word. Please don't. You are going to live it down, and I am going to help all I can. And oh, Jim, I am going to fix up the house and make it more cosy. Mother gave me some lovely stuff for new window-curtains, and other things which you will like."

"That will be very nice, Nell. It will take a lot of stuff to fix up the windows."

"But I have plenty, more than enough. There is some specially fine material for the front windows. I have always been ashamed of those old muslin curtains. I knew the neighbors criticized them."

"They did, and everything else, chiefly me."

"But the Deans didn't, Jim."

"Oh, no; they're different. But for them I wouldn't stay a day in this cursed Valley."

"Have you seen Jacynth lately?"

"Mostly every day as she rode by. She always waved to me, and several times brought me over a hot dinner. She's a great girl."

"Indeed she is, and she will be delighted to help me fix up the house. Mother gave me several pieces of cloth to cover those old chairs which are worn thread-bare."

"They need fixing, all right."

"And, Jim don't you think the house should be made more respectable outside? We can't afford paint, I know, but it could be whitewashed, and that would improve its appearence so much. I could do it myself."

"Yes, I suppose it would be an improvement. It's a mighty good idea. It'll take a lot of work, though, Nell, to put our house in good shape now. It's in a pretty bad mess."

"Oh, I'll soon get it set to rights again, and with the new curtains to the windows, and other improvements I have in mind, it will be almost a new place."

Jim smiled grimly as he flicked the horse with the whip. What a surprise was in store for Nell. She would soon find out what the house was like. She had wanted it to burn down, so her wish had been granted.

It took them about an hour to drive from the wharf over a road by no means smooth. The old waggon bumped a great deal, for the small bridges were composed of poles with earth piled in mounds on top, the ruts were deep, and many holes lined the way. Mrs. Weston did most of the talking, telling about her visit to her mother and the friends she had met. Jim said little, and as they drew near their journey's end, he became somewhat restive. He knew the ordeal was ahead, and dreaded it. But it served Nell right, he reasoned with himself. It was a just punishment.

As they at length rounded a bend in the road, Mrs. Weston looked eagerly ahead for a view of the house which she was planning to transform. At once a startled expression came into her eyes, and she clutched her husband's arm.

"Where is the house?" she gasped. "It is gone!"

"Sure, it's gone. It went up in smoke this morning. You wanted it to burn, didn't you?"

With a pitiful little cry, Mrs. Weston slumped down in the seat and remained silent for a few minutes. It was only with considerable difficulty that Jim Weston controlled himself. If his wife had begun to scold and upbraid it would have been different. But to feel her limp form at his side, and to hear her half-smothered sobs, touched his heart. He regretted now that he had not told her sooner about the fire.

"Did you do it, Jim?" Mrs. Weston at length asked in a low voice which was scarcely more than a whisper.

"Burn it? No! What made you think I would do such a thing?"

"To spite me. You thought—"

"I'm not a devil, Nell, although fate is trying to make me one. Yes, fate and the demons of hell. But, by God, I'll win out in spite of them. I'm not down yet, even though my house is burned to the ground, and I'm a tainted jail-bird."

In a few minutes Jim stopped his horse by the blackened embers and the heap of household effects. His wife said nothing, but stared at the desolate ruins where but a short time before had stood their small house. She then looked at the pile of stuff on her right, beds, tables, chairs, cupboard, and stove. But she hardly noticed these, for her eyes were centred upon one object. With a little cry of joy, she quickly alighted and went at once to the cradle. Kneeling by its side, she examined it carefully. It was just as she had left it two weeks before, made up, as for a child. And there at the foot she saw a doll and a pair of little shoes. Nothing had been disturbed, although the clothes were somewhat blackened by the smoke. Then, overcome by her emotion, she flung out her arms over the cradle and sobbed as if her heart would break. In an instant Jim was by her side, and with his right hand upon her shoulder stood silently there gazing down upon the doll and the shoes. Presently Mrs. Weston lifted her head and looked at her husband.

"Oh, I am glad you have saved this, Jim. It's all we have to remind us of Annie."

"That and—and memory."

He suddenly turned, and his hand dropped from his wife's shoulder, for the sound of a horse's hoofs had reached him. And as he looked, he beheld a man mounted upon a large bay mare coming towards him. Mrs. Weston rose to her feet, wiped away her tears, and smiled as the horseman approached. No one could have been more welcome at such a time than this man who had been their firm friend during their trying years, and who understood them better than anyone else.

Prosper Dean took in the whole situation at a glance. He had seen the kneeling woman and the man standing by her side, so surmised its meaning. He lifted his hat to the woman in a courtly manner as he drew rein. His whole appearance, in fact, was in keeping with the noble horse he was riding. They were both thoroughbreds, as any one could see at a glance. Erect and with an easy grace, Mr. Dean rode as if born to the saddle. He might have been a commander leading a victorious army, so strong and confident did he seem. The proud, dignified poise of his head, the high, broad forehead, keen eyes, slightly aquiline nose, sensitive mouth, clean-shaven intellectual face, stamped him as no ordinary person. He seemed like a man of such dominating force of personality that he was not only able to rule himself, but all with whom he came into contact. And this was so, for Prosper Dean was a name of respect, not only in the Valley, but for miles around.

"Accept my sincerest sympathy," he began. "I have been to the city today, so only learned of your loss a short time ago from Mrs. Jukins. Have you any insurance?"

Jim shook his head.

"Ah, that is too bad. But you have saved your furniture, I see. That is something, anyway. In a day or two I shall help you with a new house, as I have plenty of boards and scantling to which you are welcome. But at present I want your help, Mrs. Weston. Hettie Jukins came home yesterday. She is sick, and she will be worse shortly. The doctor is away from home and will not be back until some time to-morrow. Mrs. Jukins is at her wit's end. She is generally like that, poor soul, always upset about something. Now, however, she has real cause for worry. She hailed me as I was passing and told me about Hettie. When I heard that you were home, I came at once to you for help. I hope you can go."

"Why certainly I shall go, unless I am needed here," Mrs. Weston replied as she looked at her husband.

"There is nothing you can do just now, Nell," was the quiet response. "You will have shelter, anyway, over your head to-night."

"And where will you sleep?" his wife inquired.

"Oh, it doesn't matter about me. But I have been fixing up the waggon-house over there, so it will be quite comfortable. To-morrow I shall get it all set to rights, and it will do until we get a new house built."

"Come with me to-night," Mr. Dean invited. "We have plenty of room."

"No, thank you kindly, sir. I prefer to stay here."

"Suit yourself, Jim, but I want your help to-morrow. I have an order for several large ships-knees, which must be delivered in a few days for the Bonnie Lass which is now being built at Marsh Creek."

"How can I help you, Mr. Dean, when I have so much to do here?"

"Because I am going to assist you with your new house. And, besides, I have news that will interest you. Old Thistle is in town."

At these words Jim Weston started and a fierce gleam came into his eyes. His body became tense, and his hands clenched hard together as he stepped towards Mr. Dean.

"When did he come?" he asked.

"A week or so ago. One of his sons has been in the city for some time, and has opened up an office there."

"What for?"

"Shipbuilding and lumbering."

Jim asked no further questions but stood lost in thought. His eyes had narrowed to mere slits, and the expression upon his face was not pleasant to behold. Mr. Dean reached out and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Steady, Jim. Be careful and don't do anything rash. Come and help me to-morrow, for I want to have a talk with you."

"But are you sure he's in town, Mr. Dean?"

"I saw him on the street."

"Did he see you?"

"No. But that will do now, for I must get home."

As Prosper Dean rode away, he turned once, looked back and saw Jim Weston standing just as he had left him, unheeding his wife who was apparently pleading earnestly with him.

"Jim is in an ugly mood. If he meets Old Thistle, it's hard to tell what might happen, murder, maybe. Now, what can I do to avoid a tragedy? I shall need much of Prospero's magic to control Caliban."