"Why in the world don't you marry and have a home of your own," sighed
Mrs. Davids.

"Well, I don't _expect_ to marry. I don't know as I do at my time of
life," responded the spinster. "I rather guess my day for chances is
gone by."

"You ain't such a dreadful sight older than I am, though," replied Mrs.
Davids, reflectively.

"Not so old by two full years," returned Miss Tame, taking another smart
pinch of snuff, as though it touched the empty spot in her heart and did
it good. "But _you_ ain't looking out for opportunities yet, I suppose."

Mrs. Davids sighed, evasively. "We can't tell what is before us. There
is more than one man in want of a wife."

As though to point her words, Captain Ben Lundy came in sight on the
beach, his head a long way forward and his shambling feet trying in vain
to keep up.

"Thirteen months and a half since Lyddy was buried," continued Mrs.
Davids, accepting this application to her words, "and there is Captain
Ben taking up with just what housekeeper he can get, and _no_
housekeeper at all. It would be an excellent home for you, Persis.
Captain Ben always had the name of making a kind husband."

She sighed again, whether from regret for the bereaved man, or for the
multitude of women bereft of such a husband.