There were candles and flowers on the round table, and the dishes and
silver were Mrs. Owen's "company best," which was very good indeed. The
admiral and Professor Kelton sat at Mrs. Owen's right and left, and
Sylvia found herself between the minister and the admiral. The talk was
at once brisk and general. The admiral's voice boomed out tremendously
and when he laughed the glasses jingled. Every one was in the best of
spirits and Sylvia was relieved to find that her grandfather was
enjoying himself immensely. The admiral's jokes harked back to old
times, when he and Kelton were at the Naval Academy, or to their
adventures in the war. It was odd to hear Mrs. Owen and the admiral
calling her grandfather "Andrew" and "Andy"; no one else had ever done
that; and both men addressed Mrs. Owen as "Sally." At a moment when
Sylvia had begun to feel the least bit awkward at being the only silent
member of the company, the minister spoke to her. He had seemed at first
glance a stoical person; but his deep-set, brown eyes were bright with
good humor.

"These old sea dogs made a lot of history. I suppose you know a good
deal about the sea from your grandfather."

"Yes; but I've never seen the sea."

"I've crossed it once or twice and tramped England and Scotland. I
wanted to see Burns's country and the house at Chelsea where Carlyle
smoked his pipe. But I like our home folks best."

"Mr. Ware," growled the admiral, "a man told me the other day that you'd
served in the Army. I wish I'd had a chaplain like you in the Navy; I
might have been a different man."