old Kelly seem up to their eyes in business. What an assemblage of pots and kettles, and household stuff there is upon the lawn! Are you going to have an auction?”

“You may well think so; if that were the case, there might be some excuse for his folly. No; all this dirt and confusion, which once a week drives me nearly beside myself, is what K—— calls clearing up the ship; when he and his man Friday, as he calls Kelly, turn everything topsy-turvy, and, to make the muddle more complete, they always choose my washing-day for their frolic. Pantries and cellars are rummaged over, and everything is dragged out of its place, for the mere pleasure of making a litter, and dragging it in again.

“Look at the lawn! Covered with broken dishes, earless jugs, cracked plates, and bottomless saucepans,” continued Mrs. Kitson. “What a dish of nuts for my neighbours to crack! They always enjoy a hearty laugh at my expense, on Kitson’s clearing-up days. But what does he care for my distress? In vain I hide up all this old trumpery in the darkest nooks in the cellar and pantry—nothing escapes his prying eyes; and then he has such a memory, that if he misses an old gallipot he raises a storm loud enough to shake down the house.

“The last time he went to London,” pursued the old lady, “I collected a vast quantity of useless trash, and had it thrown into the pond behind the house. Well, when he cleared the decks next time, if he did not miss the old broken crockery, all of which, he said, he meant to mend with white lead on rainy days; while the broken bottles, forsooth, he had saved to put on the top of the brick wall, to hinder the little boys from climbing over to steal the apples! Oh, dear, dear, dear! there was no end to his bawling, and swearing, and calling me hard names, while he had the impudence to tell Kelly, in my hearing, that I was the most extravagant woman in the world. Now, I, that have borne him seventeen children, should know something about economy and good management; but he gives me no credit at all for that. He began scolding again to-day, but my poor head could not stand it any longer; so I came over to spend a few minutes with you.”

The handsome old lady paused to draw breath, and looked so much excited with this recapitulation of her domestic wrongs, that Mrs. Lyndsay thought it not improbable she had performed her own part in the scolding.

As to Flora, she was highly amused by the old Captain’s vagaries. “By-the-bye,” she said, “had he any luck in shooting this morning? He was out by sunrise with his gun.”

The old lady fell back in her chair, and laughed immoderately.

“Shooting! Yes, yes, that was another frolic of his. But Kitson’s an old fool, and I have told him so a thousand times. So you saw him this morning with the gun?”

“Why, I was afraid he might shoot Lyndsay, who was shaving at the window. The captain pointed his gun sometimes at the window, and sometimes at the eaves of the house, but as the gun always missed fire, I began to regain my courage, and so did the sparrows, for they only chattered at him in defiance.”

“And well they might. Why, my dear, would you believe it, he had no powder in his gun! Now, Mrs. Lyndsay, you will perhaps think that I am telling you a story, the thing is so absurd; yet I assure you that it’s strictly true. But you know the man. When my poor Nelly died, she left all her little property to her father, as she knew none of her late husband’s relations—never was introduced to one of them in her life. In her dressing-case he found a box of charcoal for cleaning teeth, and in spite of all that I could say or do, he insisted that it was gunpowder. ‘Gunpowder!’ says I, ‘what would our Nelly do with gunpowder? It’s charcoal, I tell you.’”

“Then he smelt it, and smelt it—‘’Tis gunpowder, Sally! Don’t you think, that I know the smell of gunpowder? I, that was with Nelson at Copenhagen and Trafalgar?’

“‘’Tis the snuff in your nose, that makes everything smell alike;’ says I. ‘Do you think, that our Nelly would clean her beautiful white teeth with gunpowder?’

“‘Why not?’ says he; ‘there’s charcoal in gunpowder. And now, Madam, if you dare to contradict me again, I will shoot you with it, to prove the truth of what I say!’

“Well, after that, I held my tongue, though I did not choose to give up. I thought to spite him, so for once I let him have his own way. He spent an hour last night cleaning his old rusty gun; and rose this morning by daybreak with the intention of murdering all the sparrows. No wonder that the sparrows laughed at him. I have done nothing but laugh ever since—so out of sheer revenge, he proclaimed a cleaning day; and he and Kelly are now hard at it.”

Flora was delighted with this anecdote of their whimsical landlord; but before she could answer his better-half, the door was suddenly opened and the sharp, keen face of the little officer was thrust into the room.

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CHAPTER III.
THE OLD CAPTAIN IN PERSON.

“Mrs. Lyndsay, my dear; that nurse of yours is going to hang out your clothes in front of the sea. Now, it’s hardly decent of her, to expose female garments to every boat that may be passing.”

The Captain’s delicacy threw poor Flora nearly into convulsions of laughter—while he continued, rather pettishly—

“She knows no more how to handle a rope than a pig. If you will just tell her to wait a bit, until I have overhauled my vessel, I will put up the ropes for you myself.”

“And hang out the clothes for you, Mrs. Lyndsay, if you will only give him the treat—and then, he will not shock the sensitive nerves of the sailors, by hanging them near the sea,” sneered the handsome old lady.

“I hate to see things done in a lubberly manner,” muttered the old tar.

“Oh, pray oblige him, Mrs. Lyndsay. He is such an old woman. I wonder he does not ask your permission to let him wash the clothes.”

“Fresh water is not my element, Mrs. Kitson, though I have long known that hot water is yours. I never suffer a woman to touch my ropes, and Mrs. Lyndsay borrowed those ropes this morning of me. Don’t interrupt me, Mrs. K.; attend to your business, and leave me to mine. Put a stopper upon that clapper of yours; which goes at the rate of ten knots an hour—or look out for squalls.”

In the hope of averting the storm, which Flora saw was gathering on the old man’s brow, and which in all probability had been brewing all the morning, she assured the Captain, that he might take the command of her nurse, ropes, clothes, and all.

“Mrs. Lyndsay,—you are a sensible woman,—which is more than I can say of some folks,” glancing at his wife; “and I hope that you mean to submit patiently to the yoke of matrimony; and not pull one way, while your husband pulls the other. To sail well together on the sea of life, you must hold fast to the right end of the rope and haul in the same direction.”

His hand was upon the lock of the door, and the old lady had made herself sure of his exit, and was comfortably settling herself for a fresh spell of gossip at his expense, when he suddenly returned to the sofa on which Flora was seated; and putting his mouth quite close to her ear, while his little inquisitive grey