The captain sat on his front porch reading a newspaper.
He was in his shirt-sleeves and bareheaded,
his straight hair standing straight out like the bristles
of a shoe-brush. Since the death of his wife
a few years before he had left the service, and now
spent most of his days at home, tending his garden
and enjoying his savings. He was a man of positive
character and generally had his own way in everything.
It was therefore with some astonishment that
he heard Martha say when she had mounted the
porch steps and pushed open the front door, her
breath almost gone in her hurried walk, "Come
inside."

Captain Holt threw down his paper and rising
hurriedly from his chair, followed her into the sitting-room.
The manner of the nurse surprised him.
He had known her for years, ever since his old
friend, Lucy's father, had died, and the tones of her
voice, so different from her usual deferential air,
filled him with apprehension.

"Ain't nobody sick, is there, Martha?"

"No, but there will be. Are ye alone?"

"Yes."

"Then shut that door behind ye and sit down.
I've got something to say."