"I sha'n't begretch him one mite of his popularity," vowed the
storekeeper. "Any man that can put Kun'l Gid Ward where he belongs
is a better thing for the town than a new meetin'-house would be."

But during all this flurry of gossip Cap'n Aaron Sproul spent his
bland and blissful days up under the shade of the big maple in the
Ward dooryard, smoking his pipe, and gazing out over the expanse of
meadow and woodland stretching away to the horizon.

Most of the time his wife was at his elbow, peering with a species
of adoration into his browned countenance as he related his tales
of the sea. She constantly carried a little blank-book, its ribbon
looped about her neck, and made copious entries as he talked. She
had conceived the fond ambition of writing the story of his life.
On the cover was inscribed, in her best hand:

FROM SHORE TO SHORE

LINES FROM A MARINER'S ADVENTURES

_The Life Story of the Gallant Captain Aaron Sproul_

_Written by His Affectionate Wife_

"I reckon that Providunce put her finger on my compass when I steered
this way. Louada Murilla," said the Cap'n one day, pausing to relight
his pipe.

He had insisted on renaming his wife "Louada Murilla," and she had